


We Won't Bow Down On Nobody's Ground

by LeeAtwater



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Sex, Bondage, F/F, F/M, Lies, Mindfuck, Rape Aftermath, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture, ana - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 33,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2243112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeAtwater/pseuds/LeeAtwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Far From Any Road" and "And I'll Dance At Your Funeral If You Dance At Mine." Everyone down south knows the story of the charming man in a nice suit who likes to make deals at midnight, and why you can't trust him. Especially the former Courier Six and her friends in the newly formed Delta Republic. When old enemies from the past collide with new friends on unfamiliar territory, it's going to be a hell of a ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gonna Set Your Flag On Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike my previous two fics in this trilogy, this one is still a work in progress, so you may have slower updates than you're used to.
> 
> Future chapters will likely contain things that necessitate new tags/trigger warnings, but we're not at that point yet. Nonetheless, if you are very sensitive to mentions of rape, you should be cautious when reading.

Commander Six glared impotently across the Sabine River. She'd heard through the gossip chain that the Legion forward camp was officially named the Latin equivalent of Victory or Death, but she and Cass had taken to calling it Camp Personal Insult.

“Don't come across the river _,”_ their message to the Legion leadership had said. “Come across the river and it means war.”Apparently, that had been interpreted as, “Feel free to literally make yourself at home with an enormous goddamn camp on the other side of the river and try to provoke us into shooting first so you can claim we started it.”

Cass – Major Cassidy, as she was now known, although she'd told Six that she'd gut her like a fish if her old friend ever called her by her rank – walked up behind her. “Back in the old days, we'd be picking up a Fat Man right about now,” the red-headed woman said. “Fuck diplomacy.”

Fuck diplomacy, indeed, Six thought bitterly. The Legion hadn't been interested in diplomacy when they'd invaded Vegas, destroyed California, killed half their friends and tormented the others. But now that Six and Cass were high-level officials in the relatively new Delta Republic, now that they finally had an army to back up their vendetta, suddenly it was time for a calm, rational discussion.

“Speaking of diplomacy, have you thought up a good excuse to get out of next month's meeting?” Six asked.

“I'm thinking of saying that the deathclaws have bred with the swamp dragons, and we've taken up the mantle of deathdragon hunters,” Cass said. “We're simply too busy attacking them with lances and coming up with antidotes for their fireballs to attend any stupid fucking meetings.”  
  
The meetings, more than anything, had been the worst insult. All of the leaders and top military brass of the nations along the coast went to an enormous conference every three months, up in the Brotherhood's base to the north. For most of them, it was just a chance to get picked up by a vertibird, relax in a stylish hotel suite, and deal with minor conflicts while drinking brandy. Admittedly, the Legion had come to rule Texas through legitimate means, so there was no reason that they shouldn't have been invited to the table. But the thought of those monsters wearing suits, walking around like they were _people_ while Vulpes used his honeyed words to slither into more and more minds, turned Six's stomach. She and Cass had refused to attend any of the meetings, coming up with increasingly ridiculous excuses. Their absence had been noted.

“You're going to need to come one of these days,” President Jackson had told Six and Cass after the last time they begged out of the commitment (“our robot dog has syphilis.”) “There's a guarantee of safe passage, if that's what you're worried about, and the Brotherhood takes that seriously. It's not like they haven't had countries at war before.”

“They should be worried about _their_ safety, if they want us there so badly,” snarled Cass. “It's just another excuse to fucking taunt us into attacking first. Let's see how the unkillable Malpais Legate handles a ballpoint pen through his eye socket. After that bullshit you told us he said last time, I don't think I could restrain myself.”

“That bullshit is why you two need to be there,” Jackson said. “Listen, I believe you, of course, and I think most people would if they could just talk to you. But since you refuse to show up, it's easy for them to portray you two as some sort of irrational, hysterical … women.”

When Jackson had told them about the discussion at the last meeting, it had been all Six could do to stop herself from swimming over the damned river herself to give the Legion a piece of her mind. _The Legion has changed,_ Vulpes had said. _Slavery is a thing of the past. Of course, there are some who don't wish to leave our service. But we don't enslave anymore. We don't conquer. We don't torture. Do not blame what we are today for the sins of our past leadership._

He'd told them to look at the happy, prosperous citizens of Texas, the bright, shiny towns the Legion used to lure settlers. No one ever mentioned the conditions in California, or in New Vegas, or in any of the towns out west that hadn't been interested in joining voluntarily. No one seemed to want to look behind the curtain.

Joshua Graham had even had the gall to tell Jackson that Six and Cass were 'misguided' to loathe the Legion so much. _I do not know what happened to your advisers when they lived in the West, other than that none of us here today was involved. But their hatred of us colors their judgment. You may want to seek different counsel._

Jackson had asked them what they were doing hanging around by the river, if they weren't interested in conquering. The response had been infuriating. Some of the tribes of Texas had claim to lands across the river, and of course, with such _volatile_ and _emotionally unstable women_ leading the Delta, the Legion was forced to put up a camp to defend itself. And if the Delta attacked first, the rest of the coastal states would help poor, beleaguered Texas.

Cass had blown up at that, smashed a bottle against the wall, then took to the Rue Bourbon with Six, Arcade and Veronica for what turned into a spectacularly debauched night of drinking. Veronica and Cass were angry beyond measure, but Six and Arcade just drank in grim, ashen shock. For Vulpes to just coldly deny what had happened, not just to them, but to thousands of others, was unthinkable. _Don't blame them for the sins of the past? Don't worry, the only person I blame is you._

But they had no proof. Most of the hard evidence of the Legion's crimes had burned with Flagstaff and Shady Sands. And they couldn't exactly walk back to Vegas to document the conditions. The Legion had made sure that none of its slaves ever escaped alive, which meant that there was no one to tell the story. It was as if it had been wiped from history.

Arcade and Six had talked late that night, after their friends had drank themselves into a blind stupor. “We've got to find proof,” Arcade said. “They can't deny it if it's right in front of them.”

“So what?” Six asked. “We send one of my agents to get captured further west? That'll just end in death.”

“A Legion war camp is still a Legion war camp,” Arcade said. “They're still going to be pulling the same old evil deeds. They're just going to keep it hidden better. If we have evidence of rape, slavery, murder in that forward camp ...”

“... Then they'll just blame it on the exuberance of recruits,” Six finished. “Ha ha, kids will be kids, they must have heard some stories about the old days, everyone involved has been executed, look at our pretty little traps in Texas instead.”

“Not if we get evidence that the leadership is still up to their old shenanigans,” Arcade said. “If only we had someone who could piss them off enough that they'd admit it, someone who could really get under their skin. It's too bad we don't know anyone like that.”

“Why, Doctor Gannon,” Six said. “You haven't been on board with any plans like that in the past.”

“I'm not suggesting recreating any previous interactions, mind you,” he said. “You'll set foot over that river over my dead body. But they could never pass on the chance to taunt you. I heard a rumor from someone in the office that the troops at both forward camps have found a way to communicate messages back and forth. That might be a way to get the ball rolling.”

She told him she'd think about it, but the wheels in her head were still spinning as they stared across the river and Cass discussed her increasingly inventive deathdragon fantasy.

“Actually, I'm hoping we'll be able to go to the next meeting,” Six interrupted. “With proof. I finally got an agent into the Legion.”

“Seriously?” asked Cass, her eyes lighting up. “They killed all the previous ones.”

“This guy is good. He's from one of the last tribes in Texas near the border, the ones that they only took control of a few months back. Thankfully, I contacted him before they fell, and he was ticked off enough about his fellows surrendering to the Legion that he agreed to work for me. He's got a holotape recorder and a camera. And, of course, I've got my own plan.” She held out a baseball to Cass. “Want to do the honors of opening this one?”

It had taken them a long time to figure out how the two camps were communicating with each other. It took an errant baseball shot from across the river nearly breaking Cass's nose for them to realize what was happening. When they'd unwound the stitching, Six had pulled out a very graphic note detailing what the authors planned to do to some of the Delta troops. Cass had kept the original, for evidence, but had reprinted and distributed copies at the next briefing before demanding to know what other sort of messages were being passed. Sheepishly, about ten soldiers admitted that they had been trading threats, insults, and in one case, an extremely long-running game of Hangman back and forth with the legionaries.

“Are we going to get in trouble, Major?” asked the brawny young man who'd been wielding the baseball bat.

“Don't send anything important from now on, and I'll let this one slide,” Cass had said. “In fact, I think Commander Six might have a few things she wants the Legion to know.”

So far, her missives had received no response. Maybe today's would be different. Six watched with interest as Cass cracked the ball open and pulled out a note and, strangely, a coin.

“Sorry, Six. Just the usual threats, a game of tic-tac-toe, and a … denarius? Oh, it's got 'For Caesar's Whore' taped to it. Thoughtful. Do you think we should add it to the evidence?” Cass squinted at the horizon. “Wait, what are they doing? Is that what I think it is?”

Six pulled out her binoculars. On the opposite shore, the legionaries were involved in a horribly familiar task, one that made bile rise in her throat. They'd erected pylons days ago, more as a threat than anything else, but the new ones they were putting up had people on them, women, screaming women and – she dropped the binoculars into the dirt and clenched her fists until she felt blood run under her nails.

Six scrambled in her pack, looking for her camera. Cass had picked up the binoculars, but she'd only looked through them a second before tossing them back down. “Fucking unbelievable,” snarled Cass. “At least this sets it in stone. I'm pretty sure stringing people up is one of those things they're not supposed to do anymore.”

“I can't get a clear view,” Six said, frustrated, snapping shot after shot. “It's too far. Everything is blurry from this distance. These aren't worth anything.”

“We're just going to let them get away with this?” demanded Cass.

“Of course not,” she replied reflexively. _Sorry, Arcade._

Night fell. Their troops had come out in groups throughout the day, passing around binoculars to see the gruesome display. One of Cass's lieutenants had broken down in tears, identifying one of the women as her sister, who lived just on the other side of the border. This only strengthened Six's resolve. They'd probably be dead by the time they got there, but at least their deaths wouldn't be smoothed over by the Legion's shiny new revisionist history.

Arcade had made her promise not to set foot over the river. Jackson had given her the same order. And she intended to follow the letter of the order, if not the spirit. Which is why Six was using ropes and harnesses to scale one of the taller trees near the camp. With enough luck, she'd be able to swing across to a similar tree on the west side and get close enough for some pictures. Two of the three women hadn't moved in hours, but the third, the one that Cass's lieutenant had said was her sister, was still twitching occasionally. No one should have to die like that.

With great effort, Six managed to pull herself across the overgrowth toward the camp. She needed to preserve a path back so that she could retreat quickly if needed. Dropping into the water was … not an option. When she'd given the message that crossing the river meant death for the Legion, she meant it literally. They'd mined the hell out of the thing, ten miles up and downstream from the camp, and the Delta troops regularly had to bury the remains of their opponents who'd decided to try their luck.

She was close, now. Close enough for pictures. She managed to snap a few good shots before the woman who was still conscious heard the noise and looked up at her. The other two were still breathing, but not for long. The woman mouthed something at Six. _Please._ Six was pulling out her silenced pistol when a centurion walked out of a tent, smirking up at the crosses, then followed the dying woman's gaze up into the trees. His eyes widened and he reached for his radio.

Six shot him between the eyes before he could summon reinforcements, then shot the conscious woman in the head and the others in the chest. Torches were being lit; people had noticed that something was wrong. She had a clear shot back through the trees to the other side, but she'd be vulnerable to bullets while crossing, and a minor injury was all it would take for her to fall into the deadly water. She needed a distraction, and look at that, some oil drums were stored right next to the wooden crosses and the intensely flammable canvas tents. Arcade had called her a pyromaniac once, and he might have had a point. No way was she going to waste her best lighter on these idiots, though.

A few shots into the oil drums and one lit match later, and Six was frantically scrambling back across the treetops, trying to cut enough of her ropes that her actions wouldn't be obvious in the morning. The flames were spreading, and while she knew they'd stop the fire before the whole camp burned, she took a savage pleasure in watching it once she was safely on the other side. _If you can't prove it, it didn't happen, right? That's the game we're playing now. I can work with that._


	2. The Personal Is Political

“The Legion is angry at you,” President Jackson told Six and Cass a week later, back in Nola.

“I've heard rumors that the sky is blue and water is wet, too,” Cass replied, rolling her eyes. “They're always angry at us. They hate us. We hate them. What is it this time?”

“They claim you're responsible for setting fire to their forward camp,” Jackson said. The woman leaned forward in her chair. “Are you?”

“Do they have any evidence to back up that claim?” Six asked.

Jackson sighed. “You know, Commander, the most believable thing to say would be 'No, we didn't do it', not 'do they have evidence.' So I'm going to assume that you were responsible. They're planning on bringing it up at the next meeting, which _you will both be attending_. With a reasonable explanation for what may have happened at the river. Do I make myself clear on that?”

“I don't want to go to the meeting,” said Cass, pouting. “We're all just going to have to pretend we get along while glaring at each other and then someone will get fed up and throw a whiskey bottle at some jackass's head and get escorted out by security. I've seen it happen a million times in Vegas.”

“I want to go,” Six said, the ghost of a smile on her face. She stepped forward and handed a pack of photographs to the president. “I want to hear a _reasonable explanation_ for this.”

Her spy in the Legion had come through. The photographs were gnarled and slightly damp from their baseball-encrusted trip across the river, but they showed more than enough. Most of the pictures were from a small city that had resisted surrender, and had received a similar treatment to Nipton, without the benefit of a lottery ticket. There had been women captured alive. They were, mostly, not alive any longer. The legionaries had enjoyed themselves, as was evident in the pictures.

“Um.” Jackson said, swallowing deeply and looking away. Again, Six had to remind herself that most people got upset at looking at things like photographs of heads on spikes. Her sense of normal had been deeply warped. “How'd you …”

“Mostly from an agent,” Six said. She pointed to the few decent pictures she'd managed to take during her brief trip to the forward camp. “These ones I took myself, shortly before that mysterious fire.” She met her leader's gaze. “I'm sure you'll agree that _something_ needed to burn.”

“I also have a few holotapes,” she continued, laying them out on the desk. “Campfire stories, mostly, but implicating the leadership.” She pointed to one in particular. “Listen to them when you want, but I'd request that you save that one for last, and hear it in private.” Six had had to go out on the porch and smoke one of her rare cigarettes after listening to that tape. Vulpes had clearly relished telling the story, which was of one of her worst nights back in Vegas, and hearing his voice describing her begging for mercy while chained to the bed had pulled her right back into her most well-repressed memories.

“I'll do that now,” Jackson said, still staring at the pictures. “Would you … can …”

“We'll step out for a few,” Six replied smoothly. “Radio Cass when you need us back.”

“Holy shit, Six,” Cass said, breaking into a grin the moment they left the room. “Why didn't you tell me about this back at the camp?”

“I needed to make sure it was all usable, and all datable to the current era,” Six said. “And I wanted to screen it for content. No one should hear those tapes that doesn't absolutely need to hear them. Especially the last one.”

“So what are we going to do at the meeting?” Cass asked.

“That's up to Jackson, but I'm thinking smile politely, grit our teeth, then hit them with this whenever the discussion turns to who burned down whose camp. I'm not sure what the Brotherhood will do, but Jackson has talked about 'safe passage' enough that they're probably not going to shoot down the leaders like dogs, even though it's more than they deserve.” Six thought for a moment. “We should get the hell out of there as soon as we can. I have the feeling they're not going to be very happy with us when we pull off their masks.”

“We won't even have a chance to gloat,” said Cass, sulking.

“We can gloat when we get back,” Six responded. “Want to go see if intrepid journalist Veronica Santangelo is willing to help us with our special audiovisual presentation?”

Of the four friends, Veronica had made the most unusual career choice. Six and Cass hadn't as much chosen to join the government as the government had coalesced around them, and it was no shock to anyone that Arcade decided to found his own community clinic, complete with a specialization in trauma counseling. But Brotherhood Scribe to radio journalist was a surprising turn-around, especially since Veronica was dating President Jackson. Cass had teased her about being biased towards the government, but after several devastatingly critical investigative pieces, including one that led to Veronica and Jackson taking a month-long 'break', they'd all realized that Veronica's commitment to truth would trump her relationship every time.

It was a short walk from Jackson's office to Veronica's radio station. Veronica initially scowled at the uninvited guests to her sanctuary, but brightened up when she saw who it was.

“Besties!” she cried. “Haven't seen you in forever. Did you finally get back from glaring over the river and not starting wars? Also, did you burn down a Legion camp?”

“Yes to the first question, and 'it's classified information until the military chooses to release it' to the second,” Six said. “But you can find out if you'll do us a favor. I have something that I want to present at the next big coastal meeting, and I'd love it if you'd put it all together for us.”

Veronica sighed. “Again with this? I told Jackson that I'm not going to do propaganda work for the government. It's unethical, improper, and you guys never pay on time.”

“This isn't for the government, it's for all of us,” Cass said, leaning on Vero's desk. “Legion atrocities. We finally have evidence, and we're going to slam them with it at the next conference when they try to pull that 'poor us, so abused, won't everyone stop blaming us for all the shit we did' card.”

Veronica's eyes narrowed. Of the four friends, she was the only one who hadn't ever fallen into the hands of the Legion, but she'd heard enough stories – and enough whimpers from Arcade and Six in the middle of the night – to be as disgusted with their revision of history as the rest of the gang. “That's different. Count me in. What do you have?”

“A bunch of photographs, a few holotapes, audio only,” Six replied.

“Damn, I wish you'd get your hands on something with visuals and sound at the same time,” Veronica said. “That's what really plays well nowadays.”

Six thought for a moment. “I'll get in touch with my agent and see if he can get anything along those lines. I need to send him orders to get safely back here before they find him out, anyway. And I have another idea. It might be audio only, but it'd be some pretty damning audio.”

“Oh, that other plan that you won't tell us about?” said Cass. “Those have always worked out great for us in the past.”

“It's perfectly safe,” Six muttered, hating to lie to her friends. “It just requires some discretion. And no, before you even ask, I am _not_ going to cross the river. Veronica, Jackson is reviewing the recordings. Give me about a week to scrounge up what I can, and then I'll deliver it here. Meeting's in three weeks. Think you can handle it?”

“Only if you guys describe what their faces look like after you show the video,” said Veronica, grinning evilly.

Cass's radio beeped, and she went out into the hallway to answer it. She returned less than a minute later. “Six, Jackson's looked at the tapes and wants to talk to us, and she also wants to know what Veronica wants for dinner.”

“I'd like some extra-spicy jambalaya, with sausage, and some of those things that taste like they're made of brown sugar and maple syrup and I can't remember their names,” Veronica said promptly.

Cass repeated the order, then rolled her eyes at the response. “Correction. Jackson would like to know what you want to _make_ for dinner.”

“She can heat up yesterday's chicken parmesan in the fridge, and please advise her that I have a job and am thus not her personal chef.” Veronica was in one of those moods again.

Six and Cass wandered back through the city towards the capitol building. Six wondered, for the millionth time, how defensible the city really was. She was counting a lot on the jungle and the water, maybe too much. But unless the Legion had suddenly developed a navy, which would be _hilarious,_ there were only a few areas of attack. The city's biggest enemy had always been the city itself. The river, the lake, the swamps, the fires and floods and hurricanes and heat … they were lucky that the stupid Roman gods didn't exist, or they could smite this place a hundred different ways.

“Mapping out battle plans in your head?” Cass asked quietly.

“Maybe a little,” Six replied. “This whole thing has my brain sort of muddled. I'm going to talk to Arcade later tonight and see if he can sort me out. The shit on those tapes … it was like being back there, all over again.”

“The last one's about you, I'm guessing,” said Cass.

Six clenched her fists. “Of course it's fucking about me. It makes me sound _weak._ Pathetic. Begging like a coward.” _Please, please just kill me, please …_

_You haven't earned that yet._

“Six, people have used a lot of words to describe you – 'fucking terrifying' was the last one I heard, up at the camp – but I don't think that 'coward' has ever applied,” Cass said gently. She shifted the subject slightly. “Anything about me and Alerio on those tapes?”

Six gave Cass a look. “I thought you tied him up, knocked him unconscious, and escaped over the fence. I don't think that's exactly something a leader's going to share with the troops.”

“Oh, so that's what he told you?” Cass smirked. “I mean, yeah, that's what happened, but not before I had my wicked way with him.” Mistaking Six's look of shock, Cass continued, “Don't worry, it was all consensual. Hard not to be, with him tied to the chair like that. I could have just run off, but I heard someone say what he liked to do to women, so I figured it was time for a little payback. And _then_ I smashed his head into the wall and escaped.”

There were a few beats of silence before Six spoke. “Cass?”

“Yeah?”

“You're not scared of the Legion.”

“Course not,” Cass replied. “Just a gang of assholes with personality disorders.”

“You realize that you're the only person I've ever met, the _only_ person, who isn't completely terrified of them?” Six asked. “You know, we all used to have nightmares about them, even before Hoover Dam. You were the only one that never did. You walked right back into Shady Sands. You mouthed off to Vulpes when he had a gun to your head. How do you do it? How do you not be scared? Because I don't want to be scared anymore.”

Cass paused for a moment, lost in thought. “I don't know. Maybe it was all the drinking and fucking around, maybe it's just something in me, but I don't get scared of people like that. I just get angry. But you're not me, and I'm not you, and if I'd been through four months of getting tortured every night, I'd probably be scared as hell too. It's not like being afraid of bloatflies, or toasters, or some stupid bullshit no one cares about. It's being scared of something that's worth being scared about. You said everyone used to have nightmares? Even before?”

“Yeah.” The tone of Six's voice indicated that she wasn't planning on going into further detail, but she remembered anyway. Boone's were the most frequent, of course, made all the worse by the fact that he never talked about them. He'd just sit up from a sound sleep, dripping in sweat, his trigger finger jerking helplessly, and they all knew that he'd shot Carla one more time in his sleep. He'd told Six one night that sometimes it wasn't Carla anymore, it was one of them, and he missed this time. _And that's exactly what happened, isn't it? Boone died on a cross, with Vulpes mocking him for not being able to save me from the same fate. Of all the things, of everything I have to hate him for, that's the most fucking unforgivable –_

Something flashed red, in a reptilian part of her brain. Six tensed instantly, hand reaching for her gun as she focused on the man sitting at her favorite cafe. Cass followed her gaze, then let out a low whistle. “Speak of the devil.”

“Keep walking,” murmured Six. Alerio hadn't noticed them, and as much as she wanted to gun him down, she wasn't about to risk starting a shootout in a crowded street. And technically, he hadn't done anything yet, anything that she could prove. They should keep their heads down and just walk past.

Too bad she hadn't consulted Cass about that.

“Hey, Legion boy!” He looked up, eyes widening as he saw the two of them. Cass grinned and called, “Welcome to Nola. Try the lobster next time you're at Stella's. The salad is disappointing.”

 _Well, now that we've already started this …_ “So sorry to hear about your camp,” Six said, acid dripping from her voice. “I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding. How are things back home in Flagstaff? Oh, wait. My bad.”

Cass laughed, and Six hooked her arm around her friend, smirking at the Legion spy. Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed Cass on the mouth. After a second, the redhead responded in kind. When Six broke the kiss, she smiled at Alerio, who was glaring daggers at them both. “Give my regards to your boss.” Without looking back, she turned and walked away, Cass trailing slightly behind her.

When they'd gotten a block or so away, Cass pulled at her arm. “So I'm guessing that that was for show?” she asked. “'Cause I gotta say, I promised Veronica I'd tell her first if I ever decided to switch teams. Not that you're not cute.”

“It was just for show,” admitted Six. “I figure he'll report back about that. But you're a hell of a kisser, Cass.”

“You could use more tongue.” They were approaching the mossy marble building that served as the Delta's political base. To Six's surprise, Jackson was waiting for them on the front steps. She recognized the pitying look in her leader's eyes, and found herself snapping, “Don't.”

“Don't what?” asked Jackson, who looked like she was considering fleeing back into the building and barricading herself inside. Six tried to school her face into something less bitchy, but continued, “Don't say you're sorry. Don't say you didn't know. Just tell me if we're going to do this.”

“If you're in, I'm in,” said Jackson grimly. “Is Vero on board?”

“She needs a bit to get the material together, but she says she should have it ready by the meeting,” Six said. “I wouldn't make a habit of this if I were you, but this is a special case.”

“Guess who we saw --” began Cass, before a panting figure grabbed her by the shoulder. Six recognized one of the doctors at Arcade's clinic, and from the ashen tone to her skin, something was very wrong.

“Arcade said he needs you right away, Commander, and Miss Santangelo too,” the doctor gasped, trying to catch her breath. “It's – well – you'll see. Come quick.”

Six glanced at Jackson. “We'll talk later,” Jackson said, dismissing them with a wave of her hand. “You go too, Cass, if you want. This sounds bad.” The doctor had already taken off running in the direction of Veronica's radio station.


	3. A Man Chooses, A Slave Obeys

The jog to Arcade's clinic wasn't too long, but she and Cass were a little winded by the time they burst through the front door. Silent doctors pointed them to the back room. Six saw Arcade, pale and twitchy, and sitting next to him –

Theo. Her spy in the Legion. And a girl on a cot, dressed in slave rags, seizing wildly and clutching her throat.

“What happened?” asked Six, her eyes glued to the distressed woman.

“He came stumbling in here carrying her,” Arcade replied. “She's got one of those shock collars on and it won't stop going off. God, I hope Veronica remembers how to disarm them.”

Theo's eyes were wet with tears. “I'm sorry, Commander. I know I shouldn't have broken cover, but Cora is from my tribe. We hunted together as kids. We were supposed to be … and then I saw her there and I just couldn't ...”

“Jesus. No. Don't be sorry,” exclaimed Six. “You had to get her out. That's more important.”

“How long has this been going off?” asked Arcade, bending down to examine the girl once her violent shaking stopped.

“Every few minutes for the last couple of hours,” Theo said, stroking Cora's hair as she sobbed.

“You have to put in a code twice a day or it does that,” Six said authoritatively. “How long was she in there?”

“I don't know,” admitted Theo. “Maybe six weeks? But she was in one of the central tents, where they keep the special slaves for the centurions and above. I think they did something to her brain. She didn't want to go, kept saying things about a woman's place and loyalty to the Legion. I had to knock her out to drag her away. Then she started crying and wouldn't stop, and then the collar went off. Is she going to be okay?”

Arcade and Six gently removed Cora's rags and took a look at her injuries. To Six's total lack of surprise, she had an X branded on her back, whip marks on her buttocks and breasts, and dried blood spattered across her stomach and thighs. It looked like someone had been using her chest and back for knife practice. She took a look at the inside of Cora's arms and found needle marks in various stages of healing. Six glanced at Cora's face, and was surprised to see the woman looking back.

“I should not be here,” the girl said, in a monotone that was utterly devoid of life. “I exist only to serve. I wish to go back. I am true to Caesar. I belong to the Legion.” She jerked in pain as Arcade wiped a cloth across her back. Theo grabbed onto her hand.

“You've got to be _fucking kidding me!_ ” exploded Cass. “They're brainwashing the slaves now? Torturing them isn't enough? Fucking insult to injury.”

“They'll come hunt us down,” said Theo, withdrawing his hand as Cora began seizing.

“They're already here.” Six looked at Cass, who was the very picture of wrath. “Get him. Take him alive if you can and kill him if you can't.” Cass grinned mirthlessly, then walked out the door, checking her weaponry.

Both Theo and Arcade were looking confused. “We saw Alerio,” Six explained. “He was just sitting in front of Stella's. I figured he was here on recon, and there were a ton of civilians around, so we walked past without starting a fight.” Now was perhaps not the right time to mention the taunting aspect. “But he must have been looking for them.”

She nodded to her former spy. “Don't worry about that now. You two will be given all the protection I can give. I promise you. And don't ever, don't _ever_ feel like you should have done anything different.”

Veronica appeared, out of breath, and reeled backwards when she saw the girl on the bed. “Fucking electric shock collar from our favorite assholes,” Six explained. “Can you get it off?”

After Cora stopped seizing, Veronica took at look at the collar. “It's a little different from the one they had on you, but the disengage circuitry is the same. It's going to hurt but we can do it.” Vero glanced towards Theo and Arcade. “Guys, no offense, but she might not want to see anyone of the male persuasion for a little bit. Six and I will handle this.”

Cora's eyes were open again. Six took the opportunity to ask, “What did they do to you?” Veronica was pulling out a tool kit and scrounging up some fabric to place between the metal and skin.

“What I deserved.” The monotone again. “I am property of Lord Caesar and whoever he sees fit to gift me to. Good slaves do not fight. Good slaves submit. Good slaves are rewarded. I will be a good slave or I will be hurt.” Six felt like she was going to throw up, or smash a window, or both.

Vero quickly inserted the thin towels between Cora's neck and the collar before undoing the control plate. When Six met Cora's gaze next, she was shocked to find life behind her eyes.

“Cora,” said Six, quietly. “You've escaped. We're getting this off. It's over.”

“It's not over,” the girl said, in a voice very different from her earlier monotones. “You need to kill me. Please kill me. The things they did. I won't ever be the same.”

“No. You won't. But you might be better. I got out and I made a life. You can do it too.”

The girl's eyes widened. “Courier?” When Six nodded, Cora's expression molded into one of pure hate. “ _You,_ ” she hissed. “You're the one.”

 _What the hell does that mean?_ As the collar discharged again, Veronica and Six both sprang backwards,and by the time it was finished, Cora was sobbing too hard to elaborate. Working quickly, Veronica managed to deactivate and unlock the collar before it shocked the girl again. Veronica carefully put it to the side while Six drew up a dose of Med-X and injected it into Cora's arm. She needed to rest and heal before anyone talked to her, and Med-X would help with both. _At least I learned one good thing in Vegas,_ Six thought ruefully. _I'm really great at determining the proper dose for pain medications._

Six gently placed a blanket over the now-sleeping woman, and they walked out to inform Arcade and Theo of the situation. Neither of them could figure out what “you're the one” could have meant, aside from nothing good. Arcade sent out a messenger to try to arrange a safe house for Theo and Cora to recuperate in, while Six did the same to find some guards for them. For now, a few Delta soldiers would watch over the clinic while more permanent arrangements were made.

As Six prepared to walk out the door and meet up with Cass, Theo pulled her aside. “I didn't want to do this until she was safe, but …” He pulled a holotape out of his pocket and dropped it in her hand. “This isn't evidence for the meeting, but there's things you need to know on here. Listen when you get back.” Confused, Six stared at him as he entered the back room and resumed his position holding Cora's hand.

Cass had radioed her to meet up back at Jackson's office. As expected, Cass had found no trace of the Legion spy, and Jackson was profoundly disturbed by both Alerio's presence and Theo and Cora's story.

“We need to put the pieces together,” said Jackson, rubbing her temples. “This is all leading up to something. But all of our sources say they're not preparing for an attack. Maybe things will be clearer tomorrow. Go home and get some rest, both of you.” Six and Cass headed for the exit, but Jackson called back, “I need you for a moment, Commander. And shut the door.”

Six had a feeling she knew what this was about. “The plan.” Jackson said flatly. “You don't have to do it. It was too much to ask of you.”

“I want to,” Six said immediately. “Scratch that. I have to. Now more than ever. Because I need to know that I can go to this meeting without becoming a liability for us. Keep everything going as we intended. Thursday, at midnight.”


	4. I Could Say That I Was Sorry, But I Wouldn't Mean It Much

It was Thursday. It was midnight. And Commander Six was beginning to think this entire plan was an incredibly stupid idea.

 _You can get a message across,_ Jackson had said. _One final negotiation before the meeting. You're authorized to act on my behalf. Maybe we can stop this before it becomes a shooting war._ So they'd arranged a summit, through judicious use of baseball missives, and now she was six feet away from the man she'd sworn to kill.

They were standing on one of the few bridges that crossed the Sabine. Ordinarily, it was heavily mined and guarded by both sides, but tonight it was merely watched by half a dozen snipers on the Delta side, and probably at least as many on the Texas one. It still didn't feel like enough.

Five years had done nothing to dull her hatred. The air felt like it was ready to combust from the force of it. Six flicked open her favorite lighter and lit a cigarette, and was shocked that it didn't turn into a massive fireball, fueled by her rage.

“Cigarette smoking is a disgusting vice,” said Vulpes, somehow managing to look unflustered, leaning against one of the bridge supports.

“I will be sure to give your opinion all the consideration that it's worth. Which is nothing.” Six sighed. “Let's get on with this. The Delta Republic is interested in offering a peace treaty with the Legion. President Jackson signed off on the initial terms, but she's given me the latitude to make adjustments on her behalf.”

“State your terms, _Commander._ ” The sarcasm in the last word was almost palpable.

“The Brotherhood will assume temporary command of the region from five miles west of the river to twenty-five miles east and operate it as a demilitarized zone. In a year, they will hold a referendum on whether they wish to join either of our nations. In the meantime, we will open up the trade routes across our territory that we've been blocking, in exchange for you releasing any prisoners of war or civilians captured in the disputed region.” She'd managed to stay on script.

“Why would we even consider this?” he asked. “Our army outnumbers yours ten to one. You have no chance at victory.”

“Oh, I'll admit we'd lose a shooting war,” Six said calmly. “If we were on our own, which we won't be.” Vulpes raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. “But as you know, I don't fight fair, and I play to win. You would lose a lot of men.”

“And you would lose much more,” he said, quietly, and she knew what that meant.

“Do you have better terms to offer?” she asked.

“Indeed. Join us voluntarily, and Nola will become a favored city, like those in Texas. Memphis, as well. The residents will be allowed to live freely and the cities will remain standing, provided the Legion's policies are adhered to.”

“You call that freedom?" she snapped. "Living in terror of having friends and family dragged off if they dared step over the line, have a drink or two, go out dancing, speak a word against the great _Lord Caesar_. You know my people. You know they'd never agree to that. And those outside of Nola and Memphis would get the traditional 'join the Legion, be enslaved, or die' choice, I presume?" He nodded. "This isn't an offer, it's an insult.”

“Good. It was intended as such.” Six scowled, and he continued. “You know perfectly well that I am not going to accept a treaty on any terms other than unconditional surrender. We never have before, and we certainly won't now. You don't have half the army that the NCR did, you don't have the territory, you don't have the supplies, and you don't have allies. You are substantially weaker than our last opponent, while we are stronger. And we won that war, or we _would_ have, had you not pulled your nasty little trick at the end.”

“So if you're not here to negotiate, why are you here?” Six said.

“To give you a present.” Vulpes pulled a pack off his shoulder, and Six took a step back, glancing to her side to make sure she could see the glint of a sniper rifle in the trees. He rolled his eyes. “Unlike you, I am not in the habit of carrying around backpacks full of explosives. This contains some of your old gear which we liberated from the Lucky 38. Some of it we kept – it's been quite useful – but Joshua found out that one of the pieces was a gift he had presented to you and insisted we return what remained. Theft is a sin in his faith, after all. So here you go.” He slid the pack across the bridge, and Six hesitantly opened it.

A Light Shining in Darkness was there. So was Maria, her sentimental favorite. The pulse gun, the recharger pistol, the SMG she'd saved for months to buy, the power fist she'd taken from Salt-Upon-Wounds, the knife she'd dug out of a grave. And – _yes, yes, yes, –_ the tiny toy pistol that the Legion must not have figured out how to work. _That_ could come in handy. And one last item, bundled up at the bottom. The duster Ulysses had given her, with the NCR bear on the back. She looked up sharply, and found Vulpes smiling at her. _He knew._

“One more thing.” She caught the loose bag he'd tossed at her and opened it to find Ulysses's own duster. The one that she hadn't taken, that she'd insisted he needed to keep with him. And balled up in the center, a very familiar red beret. Six swore under her breath.

“The hat is a reminder of what _you_ can lose, Commander. And the coat … well, let's just say this war isn't going to end like the last one did, at least not in your favor. We made sure of that. I'd hate to see such a beautiful city as Nola turned into just another radioactive ruin. Keep that in mind when you bring my offer to your president.” He smirked. “Happy thirtieth birthday. Did you not know that was today? Well, enjoy your gifts. For as long as you can use them.”

This was the point where, five or eight or ten years ago, she would have blown up, thrown things, tried to tear his throat out and gotten shot for her trouble. With age comes wisdom, and the ability to withhold one's revenge for a few weeks. But she wasn't going to let him walk away with a victory.

“I've got a present for you, too.” She dug into her own pack, retrieved Cora's slave collar, and tossed it to Vulpes. For a second, she thought it would hit him in the face, but unfortunately he managed to duck and catch it in his right hand. “I believe this belongs to you? Or its unfortunate victim did, at one point. My spy managed to free one of your slave girls before he reported back.”

"Your spy?" he asked, passing the metal from hand to hand, frowning. "Did you actually manage to infiltrate the Legion? Well done, you. Which girl?"

"Cora," Six replied, feeling slightly confused.

"I make it a point not to know names."

Six rolled her eyes. "Short dark hair, brown eyes, someone used her for knife practice?"

"Oh, that one," he said, as if he were speaking of a piece of furniture. "She was Alerio's. I thought he sent her over to the Legate after she broke. So your agent ran off with a girl instead of staying undercover and being useful? Poor training on your part, I suppose."

"My apologies for employing human beings with feelings, rather than mindless drones who'd defect in _three seconds_ if they knew there were any other options for how to live." He stiffened, and she knew she'd struck a nerve. "Tell me, what do you think your desertion rate would be if you guys didn't hunt down and kill anyone who left?"

"How dare you imply that legionaries have no loyalty."

“How dare _I?_ ” she hissed. “How dare _you._ It's not enough to enslave and torture and rape and kill women, oh no, you guys had to go the extra mile and use fucking _shock collars_ to brainwash them into actually believing your bullshit. You know, the one thing that you didn't do to me that I actually appreciated? You didn't try to convince me that I deserved it. You didn't pretend that you were anything other than the goddamn sadistic motherfucker that you were. That you _are_.”

“You know, you might want to keep that collar,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Familiarize yourself with it a bit. This isn't the same model that you wore back in Shady Sands. It has some extended capabilities. If an electric shock can stimulate the brain for pain, I figured it could surely do the same for pleasure. The Brotherhood scribe we captured did such a good job on it that we had him shot instead of crucified when he was done. It's phenomenal, really. A shock for disobedience, a bit of gratification for compliance, and a nice mixture of drugs to keep the subject confused enough to be pliable."

Six wanted to step in, to snark back, but she remembered what Arcade had told her a while back. Let him talk, give him enough rope, and he'll hang himself. "Not just Med-X this time. I've been experimenting. There's one poison that makes the person utterly pliable to your will, but in a few hours, they won't remember any of it. Another one paralyzes most of the voluntary muscles in the body, but leaves the mind intact, so they're trapped in a useless body, able to feel every moment of pain but unable to move to stop it. No restraints needed. Breaking a slave used to take months, and now it's a matter of weeks. And they _stay_ broken, even after the drugs wear off.”

Six took a few steps backwards. He had that smile on his face, the smile that said 'I'm telling you something absolutely horrifying and there's nothing you can do about it.'

“The reason I said you should familiarize yourself with that is that I've got one waiting for you. It's a little bit nicer, of course, as befits your station, or what your station will be, when all is said and done. I believe it's inlaid with garnets. I wanted something red, and it goes well with the silver. Since it's all you'll be wearing for a while, aside from chains, it might as well be something pretty.”

“Over my dead body,” Six snarled. Five years hadn't dulled the hatred, but it had definitely done a number on her ability to not be affected by his threats. Her hands were shaking.

“Then I'd suggest you think fast about a way to win this war, other than coming up with pathetic attempts at peace treaties. Because I am _very_ much looking forward to making you kneel before me in Vegas, wearing nothing but --"

And that was enough of that shit. “These negotiations are complete,” Six interrupted, voice cold. “We will see you at the meeting. If I encounter you on our side of the river, rest assured that I will kill you without hesitation or remorse. Good night.” Without a second glance, she hefted the pack of her old weapons onto her shoulders, turned and walked away.

She didn't start crying until she sat down under a tree, a mile later, and looked at Boone's beret, still stained with blood. But she had gotten what she wanted. The holotape recorder had captured every second of that little conversation, and the camera linked to her Pip-Boy would be the nail in the coffin. This meeting was going to be one to remember.


	5. It's Such a Clever Masquerade

Two Weeks Later 

Her first impression of the Capital Wasteland was green. Everything was green, including the air, the buildings, the super mutants, and Cass's face. The journey by vertibird was not nearly as fun as Jackson had made it sound. That was the first nasty surprise. 

The second one was the hotel. Six had been expecting a luxurious suite. After all, the Capital Wasteland was the center of the eastern Brotherhood. Surely they had digs at least as nice as the Tops. And indeed there was a nice hotel, right downtown, bombed all to hell and infested with super mutants. So instead, they got a boat. A big boat, mind you, permanently welded to the dock. But it was still a goddamn boat.

Jackson told them that this used to be one of the main cities in the Wasteland before the Brotherhood cleaned up the place. Now the residents had moved on to some of the new communities that had been built further away from downtown, and the boat – Rivet City, she called it – was where the Brotherhood held its meetings and other gatherings. At least they'd retrofitted it with some nice accommodations. Apparently, all the rooms used to have two thin mattresses on a metal bunk. Six wondered if the Brotherhood should have just kept the rooms the way they were. After two days of sleeping on one of those things, their opponents would agree to anything for a change in venue. Diplomacy by uncomfortable bedding. 

The third nasty surprise came after Cass and Six had unloaded their gear bags in their suite. The Brotherhood had been Very Strict about not walking around armed, but so had pretty much any other authority group that Six had encountered. If she could sneak a switchblade into the Fort and a .22 into the Tops, she could damn well get at least a knife past the Brotherhood. She wondered if she could claim her new katana was a religious symbol that she had to keep on her at all times. 

A knock on their door revealed Jackson, dressed in … a pantsuit? Six knew they were supposed to dress up for the meeting, but why was Jackson wearing a suit now? 

“So I didn't tell you this earlier because I knew you wouldn't like it,” Jackson began, and Cass rolled her eyes. That phrase was becoming the mantra of this trip. “But the night before the meeting, everyone goes down to one of the conference rooms for cocktails and mingling. It's supposed to be a sign that we all respect each other and have peaceful intentions.” Jackson put out a hand, palm up, to stop Cass, who was looking mutinous. “Yes, I know we don't respect them or have peaceful intentions, but within a day, everyone will know the truth. So play along for tonight. There is an _open bar._ Open means _free._ And this is the time where people traditionally start flirting and hooking up, so if you want to try to squeeze the smallest amount of fun out of this, pick a cute guy out and dance with him or something.”

“Why do we have to go to this part?” asked Six. Mingling with her enemies and a bunch of people she didn't know was the last thing she wanted to do after a long vertibird flight. She and Cass had been planning to catch up on their reading and then skulk around the hotel looking for liquor.

“Because thanks to our friends to the west, you both have pretty awful reputations around here. If you can go have a cocktail and show the other nations how charming and sane you are, it'll be a lot easier for us to get allies when the fighting starts.” Jackson caught Six's expression. “Don't worry. I'm going to be keeping an eye on you guys, and I'll have Whitley or McAllister run interference if one of you gets stuck in a conversation with the legionaries and start getting that murder-look on your face.” Whitley and McAllister were the two trusted guards they'd brought along, bringing their total contingent up to five.

After Six and Cass gave their grudging consent – Six significantly more grudging than Cass, whose eyes had lit up after 'open bar' and 'hooking up' were mentioned – Jackson paused. “There's another issue.”

“Great,” said Cass in a deadpan.

“The Malpais Legate isn't here. They brought someone else.” 

“What?” exclaimed Six. “He's the fucking Legate! Doesn't he have to come?”

“No one _has_ to come, which you two know since you're skipped every one so far,” Jackson said evenly. “But they wanted him back by the river. I don't know who the new guy is. Some tribal convert, I heard.” Something dark and nasty began to stir inside Six. “But if it's a problem, let me know. Remember. Dress nicely. Act polite. Don't stab anyone with the shrimp fork.”

As soon as Jackson left, Six turned to Cass. “Fifty caps says they brought Ulysses.”

“They wouldn't,” Cass said instantly. After mulling it over for a second, she added, “Actually ...”

“At this point, do you think there's anything they wouldn't do?"

Six had learned the power of the black cocktail dress. It was frustratingly difficult to find one that wasn't cut low enough to show the scars on her back, so she'd taken to wearing an overcoat, as well as a thick choker to cover up her neck scars. Looking in the mirror, she decided to dispense with the necklace tonight. Let people see. It would only help their case. She picked out a black blazer to wear over it. Short, sexy, professional, and easy as hell to remove if she needed to fight. She was beginning to understand why Jackson had wanted them to come. Casual conversation and flirting could give them an important edge in the information department.

Six applied makeup – she hated it, but if she was going to do the femme fatale thing, she might as well go whole hog. She tried to run her fingers through her hair and stopped when she realized she couldn't do it anymore. Her hair had been in its tradition auburn bun at the disastrous river meeting two weeks ago, but since then, she'd had a hairdresser friend who owed her a favor dye it jet black, streak it with blue, and mix in purple braids. It was a rehearsal for the hairstyle she had planned for the upcoming Carnival, although she'd hoped to add some multicolored beads and feathers by the day of the parade. It came down almost to her waist, and she had to admit, it looked gorgeous, beautiful and fierce all at once. She really, really wished she could keep the katana with her to complete the look, but instead she slid a thin blade into a makeshift holster high on her left hip. The assortment of small knives and vials she'd had sewn into the liner of her blazer were just for backup.

Cass had chosen a blue dress with a low-cut neckline and had done up her red hair in a complicated knot. She looked elegant and sophisticated, an illusion that would last up until about three drinks in, or until one of the legionaries got within five feet. She didn't know what weapons Cass had on7 her, but her stiletto heels looked sharp enough to pierce someone's throat easily. 

“Shall we, Lady Six?” asked Cass, performing a mocking curtsy.

“Lead on, Mademoiselle Cassidy.”

They walked through the ship's winding hallways, trying to find their way to the conference room. Their fifth surprise of the day was waiting in the top of a stairwell.

There was Alerio, looking totally at ease in a suit and trying to discern the horrible direction signs that were attached on every stairwell. But next to him, instead of a dark-skinned man with dreadlocks and enough nuclear missiles to destroy the world, there was another familiar face.

“Hi, Six!” said Follows-Chalk brightly, moving to embrace her with a bear hug. She stood stiffly, arms clenched at her sides, but he didn't seem to care. “I didn't think I would get to see you! Joshua told me you don't usually come to these things, but I'm glad you're here! Isn't this city amazing? I mean, we've only seen the boat and the dock and a little bit of downtown, but I got to ride in a vertibird! I've always wanted to do that! How have you been?”

Cass was staring at him, mouth open in shock. Alerio looked like he was trying hard not to laugh.

“I've been …” Six wasn't entirely sure how to answer that question. “Around.” She turned to Cass and forced a cheery grin. “Major Cassidy, this is Follows-Chalk, an old acquaintance of mine from Utah, who I guess has joined the Legion! For some reason!”

“Well, Joshua asked me to, of course! He said they could use my scouting abilities. I'm still getting used to a lot of the culture and the language is a little hard to learn, but it's fun making so many new friends! And I get to see old friends, like you! Can we sit together at the meeting?”

Alerio said, “I don't think that would be a good idea. Why don't you go find the rest of our party? I believe they're in the conference room. We have a few things to discuss.”

With a happy goodbye, Follows-Chalk bounded off down the stairwell. He, at least, knew where he was going. The moment she heard a door clang, signaling that he was out of earshot, Six turned to face Alerio.

“So … did that guy not get the we-all-hate-each-other memo or something when he joined up?” Cass asked.

“Seriously? Him?” Six said. “You brought the human equivalent of a golden retriever?”

“He's a good scout,” said Alerio defensively.

“So is an actual golden retriever.”

“He's Joshua's second in command, and is unwaveringly loyal, although somewhat overly enthusiastic about … everything,” Alerio responded. He smirked. “Were you expecting someone else?”

'Getting into an argument with your Legion counterpart in a stairwell' was probably not one of the things Jackson had planned for them to do tonight. “Cass, I think we've been delayed long enough,” she said icily. “Let's go down to the party.”

“Might I accompany you?” asked Alerio. He wasn't looking at Six anymore, but at Cass, who was still stunning in her blue dress. He looked like he was ready to drop to his knees and worship her as a goddess. Hell, if Six hadn't been in the stairwell, that's probably what would have happened, considering what Cass had told her about their night in Shady Sands. She bit back a giggle.

“If you must,” drawled Cass, in a bored tone, as if she were a southern belle speaking to a farmhand. Alerio dropped his gaze to her stiletto heels. Six grinned as they headed down the stairs. This could actually be a lot more entertaining than she thought.

 


	6. Me In Honey

Six had to keep reminding herself that they were on a goddamned boat. Her expectations of chandeliers, posh carpeting and sophisticated waiters were dashed the moment she entered the conference room. It looked like a market that had been temporarily cleared out, with the exception of a small bar, to which Cass made an immediate beeline. Cass returned shortly afterwards with whiskey sours for them both, and they took a seat at the top of a rickety metal staircase and surveyed the room.

There were about a hundred people in the room, half of them dressed in various interpretations of formalwear, the other half wearing whatever their country considered to be a military uniform. Those were the guards, like Whitley and McAllister, who she noticed were having a pleasant conversation with a man and a woman wearing garish body armor decorated with brightly-colored designs of flowers and lizards. Six thought back to her briefing and decided those must be the guards of the infamous Conch Republic, well-known for not giving a fuck about anything.

Six and Cass quickly noted the positions of their archrivals. Alerio was chatting with a man in a black and yellow uniform that she recognized as one of the 'reformed raiders' of the Pitt. Follows-Chalk was quietly sketching something in a notepad on the far side of the room. And Vulpes himself was attempting, unsuccessfully, to initiate a discussion with a young, tanned woman with shocking gold hair who was clearly not having it. The woman regarded him with a cool, uninterested gaze, but her eyes lit up the moment she saw Jackson wave at her. The woman ran over to Jackson and, to Six and Cass's disbelieving shock, scooped their president up in a bear hug. Laughing, the duo made their way over to Six and Cass on the steps.

“Guys, I want you to meet Sentinel Sarah Lyons, acting Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel here in the Capital and an old friend of mine,” said Jackson with a grin.

“Well, friend might be too simple of a word,” said the Sentinel. “I actually hated your guts at first, Jackson.”

“And I thought you were just a bunch of crazy technology freaks sweating to death in power armor,” Jackson replied.

“So you knew Jackson back in the day, huh?” asked Cass. “Got any incredibly embarrassing stories about her. Hey! Do you know her first name? She won't tell us and we need it for … paperwork.” Jackson always went by T.J., but had repeatedly declined to explain what those initials stood for. They'd made up a few combinations, favoring Total Jerkass or Torture Job when she was being a tough boss, and Tipsy Jalopy or Trifling Jailbird when they felt silly. They'd determined that her real name had to be something really embarrassing for her to prefer those nicknames. Veronica knew, of course, but she'd claimed that Jackson would kill her if she ever told anyone.

“She's always been T.J. to us,” Lyons said. “And you'd have to ask her friends back in the Vault for childhood stories.” Jackson was frantically shaking her head and making a throat-cutting motion, but it was too late.

Cass's smirk widened to an evil grin, and she cackled at her superior. “Oh my God, Jackson, you're a Vaultie! That explains _so much.”_

“Is your Vault still standing?” asked Six, her interested suddenly piqued. “Is it around here? Can we go to it? Let's do that! Now! Instead of this!”

Jackson sighed. “I really wish you hadn't said that, Sarah. Major Cassidy and Commander Six need to be focused on their work, not running around looking for gossip and Vaults.” Jackson saw Six's hurt expression and softened. “Listen, we get through tomorrow alive and I'll take you to see my Vault. Hell, I'll give you the grand tour of the Wasteland. I need to go see Three Dog downtown anyway. Go socialize, you two.”

Reluctantly, Cass and Six detached themselves from Jackson and Lyons and veered off into the unknown wilds of conversation. Six stuck to the usual socially acceptable topics, politely inquiring as to the hometown/job/opinion of the weather of her conversation partner, then smiling and nodding along. Most of the people she talked to seemed uninterested, and a few appeared disappointed that the infamous Courier Six was just a regular woman instead of a screaming lunatic inhaling Jet and waving a Ripper everywhere.

The only person who actually interested her was a thin, brown-haired man wearing wire-frame glasses. She noticed that his shirt was only half tucked in, that he was constantly brushing his hair out of his face nervously, and that he had a battered pre-war book sticking out of a coat pocket. She instantly felt a kinship.

“You look like you'd rather be reading,” Six said, smiling. She was getting more into the swing of things as the night wore on. It had been so long since she'd made small talk with anyone, she'd almost forgotten how to do it.

“And you look like you'd rather be doing anything else,” he replied. “I'm guessing you're Commander Six of the Delta, right?”

“Got it in one,” Six said. “Thanks for being the only person here who hasn't called me Courier, by the way. I'm a little tired of being referred to by a ten-year-old job title. And you are?”

“Robert Merrick, Shenandoah Valley Commonwealth, and you're right, I would definitely rather be reading. These meetings are pure tedium.”

She smirked slightly. “Well, you never know. Interesting things sometimes just happen when I'm around.”

“So I've heard.” Six sighed, and Merrick looked amused. “But since I don't see you standing atop a pile of bodies ripping out hearts and drinking their blood, and you don't appear to have horns or a tail, unless they're very well hidden, I'm kind of inclined to think that the source of this information might just have a personal issue with you.”

“If you're talking about our … acquaintances to the west, then yes, there's some history there. But the story's a little too long to go into right now.”

“In that case, you're welcome to come up to my suite and discuss it later.” It took Six a minute to realize that he was flirting. That hadn't happened in a long time. “Room 315. If you're interested.”

“You know, I just might be,” she said, grinning. Hell, wasn't this sort of thing what Jackson wanted her to do in the first place? And he was cute and reasonably intelligent. She'd need all the allies she could get. “Perhaps I'll see you around, Mr. Merrick.”

“Please, call me Robert,” he said. “And … no pressure. But it seems like you could use a friend or two around here. Just don't rip out my heart and eat it or anything like that.”

“I usually save that for at least the third date.” A tap on her shoulder, and a faint aroma of alcohol, indicated that Cass needed her for something. As she turned around, she couldn't keep the ghost of a smile off her face. One that instantly died when she saw what Cass had pulled her into.

“President Weaver, Reina Estella, Chief Sesay, may I introduce my colleague, Commander Six,” said Cass. She jerked her head at Alerio, who was standing with the others. “And you two know each other, don't play, so I'm not going to introduce you.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Six said, vowing to kill Cass afterward. But the other three were leaders, and she couldn't pass up the opportunity to make a good impression with them. Thankfully, Alerio was also putting on his best charming facade, and the conversation remained light and pleasant. Maybe no one would have to get stabbed after all.

“So, Courier --” Six winced – “Do you have any family in Nola? I've heard you're from out west?” asked Sesay, a plump, middle-aged, dark-skinned man with a weathered, friendly face. Six recalled that he was the leader of a small coastal community to the south of here.

“Yes, I'm originally from Klamath, in the _NCR._ ” She emphasized the last word, and Cass caught her eye and frowned. “Not that I remember it!” She tapped the bullet scars on her head and laughed airily.

“But surely you must have a family,” Weaver said. “You're such a pretty woman, I'm sure you have suitors throwing themselves at your feet.” _Weaver, Weaver, where's he from again, other than someplace where people have no goddamn sense of tact? Oh, Atlanta. He must be one of the guys that the Brotherhood put in power after we destroyed the Confederacy. Note to self: I do not like this man._

“Nope!” she exclaimed, trying to remain cheery. “Married to the job!”

“Not even children?” asked Estella, looking sad. “Such a shame. I have seven myself. You can't really understand what love is until you have a family.”

“Yes, why _don't_ you have any children, Courier?” asked Alerio, raising his eyebrows. Cass glanced nervously at something behind Six, and a familiar prickling sensation at the back of her neck told her that their conversation was being closely monitored.

Six felt that she'd shown immense self-control over the course of the evening, but damn it, she couldn't resist the opportunity. She'd waited almost a decade to drive this knife into Vulpes's ribcage.

“I was pregnant once, a long time ago,” Six said, keeping the smile plastered on her face. “But I was enslaved at the time, and my owner beat me so badly I lost the baby. I think I was about three months along.”

From behind her, Six heard a wine glass shatter, and her smile grew broader.


	7. Trainspotting

“You sure know how to kill a conversation,” said Cass later, when the stunned group had dissipated after profuse, insincere apologies and awkward pauses. Alerio had literally just inched backward until he disappeared into the crowd. She lowered her voice. “So was that true?”

“All true,” Six replied.

“Shit, Six. Why didn't you tell us?”

“Wasn't a big deal, in the long run. And Arcade knew.” Arcade had actually been gathering a number of select herbs for her when the beating made the entire issue irrelevant. Surviving in Vegas had been one thing, but bringing a child into that … she'd sworn that she'd find a way to slit her throat before that would ever happen. It wasn't something she frequently thought about; it had been just one incident in the unrelenting nightmare of her enslavement, and not nearly the worst.

“Still,” Cass said. “God damn. The look on Inculta's face … it was like you kicked him in the balls.”

“Metaphorically, I guess I did.”

Cass stirred her drink idly with a finger. “So … you've been keeping this a secret for years.”

“Yep,” Six replied.

“ _Just in case_ you ever ran into him again and could use it against him."

“Yep.” Six had a feeling Cass was getting at something.

“Six, remember when I set you up with that doctor from Arcade's clinic, and after two dates he told me that you were a scary human being and he didn't think he could see you again?” Cass asked gently.

“Yes,” Six said drily. The memory still rankled.

“Stuff like that is exactly why,” Cass said. “That is an ice cold thing to do, Six. That's not a normal way to handle the situation.”

Six felt a sudden surge of irritation at Cass. Was now really the time to discuss this? “Well, I guess I'm not a normal person then,” she snapped. “I wonder why that is. I'm going out to get some air.”

“You better keep our door deadbolted tonight, Six!” Cass called after her retreating form. “And since when do you know where you're from, anyway?”

Six rolled her eyes as she opened the heavy door to the balcony. Like she wasn't planning on mining the hell out of the doorway as soon as they were safely inside.

Stepping out onto the catwalk, she looked out over the dead city and lit a cigarette. She'd expected the Brotherhood's capital to be like New Vegas before the war, all neon lights and drinking and parties, but she'd been sorely disappointed. She'd have to figure out a way out of all future meetings here. Then again, if tomorrow went as planned, there's a good chance she'd be asked never to return.

A hand reached out from behind her, plucked the cigarette out of her hand, and tossed it into the river.

_Or I could be stupid enough to go out alone onto a balcony and get murdered. That would work too._

“Was that true?” Vulpes asked quietly.

“You know it was,” Six replied. He wasn't an idiot, after all.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Would it have mattered?” she asked, bitterly. “ _Actions have consequences._ You've told me that about a billion times. Should have considered that it applied to you, too.”

“That was low,” he hissed. “Even for you.”

“Oh, did someone withhold important personal information just so they could use it to hurt you at an opportune moment?” she mocked. “I can't _imagine_ how that must feel.” Six was still pissed that he'd learned her true identity, the one that even she had forgotten, and turned it into a weapon.

Suddenly too close, he grabbed her upper arm and spun her to face him. Six slapped his hand away. “Don't you fucking touch me.” His eyes hardened, and she found herself groping for the knife at her hip as he reached into his jacket pocket.

In a flash, Six was pushed several feet along the railing as a blurry figure in a purple pantsuit separated them. For a stocky woman who was barely five feet tall, Jackson moved like a goddamn ninja. Belatedly, Six realized that her thin knife was out of its holster, and Vulpes was hastily trying to tuck a straight razor back in his coat.

“She's right. Don't fucking touch her.” Jackson had a certain venom in her tone, one that Six usually associated with Cass or Arcade talking about the Legion; it looked like Jackson had finally seen behind the mask to the demon underneath.

“This doesn't concern you, Madam President.”

“My advisors being threatened is certainly something that concerns me,” Jackson said coldly. “I suggest you return to the party. Six, my room. Now.”

Grateful for the out, Six followed Jackson through the open metal door and into the hallway. She thought she heard the older woman muttering something about 'can't take you anywhere', but that may have just been her imagination.

When they were back in Jackson's room, the president sighed and sat down at a rickety metal desk. “So what exactly was going on back there? Cass said you and her got into a little argument and then you went out to get some air, and when I looked around I didn't see you or Inculta, so we split up to find you. Were you about to stab each other?”

“He started it,” whined Six, realizing that she sounded exactly like a child that had been caught fighting on the playground.

Jackson raised her eyebrows. “Commander, how many weapons do you have on you at this moment?”

“Four,” Six admitted. “All knives.”

“Why don't you up that number a little bit, and make one of them a pistol?” Six looked at Jackson, surprised. “I did _not_ like the look on his face. You know, he came off so charming and educated and nice at all the previous meetings, but once you actually know the truth, he's goddamn terrifying.”

“I never got that myself,” said Six, shrugging. “When your first impression of someone involves them burning people alive on tire fires, it's tough to ever think of them as charming.”

“Let me walk you back to your room. I think you've done enough socializing tonight. Good job, by the way; I heard a few people talking about how normal you were. Cass is waiting, and you two are _not_ to leave the room until I come get you in the morning. Consider that an order.”

After they'd secured and mined their room, Six told Cass what had happened on the balcony, and Cass apologized for her comments. They had a nip of whiskey and went to bed. Three hours later, Six sat bolt upright, covered in sweat and tangled in the sheets. She'd had a nightmare – one of the worst in a long time – and knew she wasn't about to get back to sleep tonight. Packing her pistol, her katana, and Cass's shotgun, she slipped into her armor, disabled some of the mines, and stepped out into the night.

The downtown D.C. ruins were as much of a hellhole as she expected, but she'd always wanted to see the old-world Capitol building. It took a few Rad-Aways and more stimpaks than she'd expected. What were they _giving_ the super mutants around here? Black Mountain had been a cakewalk in comparison. But seeing the rotunda made it all worthwhile. She even got to stop and see the ghoul city of the Underworld on her way back, made small talk with the inhabitants, and marked several locations that they mentioned on her Pip Boy for further exploration later.

Six was almost out of the downtown area when she saw a lone man, dressed in a suit, staring at a row of abandoned townhouses. She hung back and pulled out binoculars as the man seemed to pick out one in particular and climbed the stairs to the entrance. Through the binoculars, she could see that the man was Follows-Chalk, looking significantly more focused than usual. He pulled a key from his pocket and opened the door. Ten minutes later, he exited the townhouse, locked the door, and set his bag on the ground. Removing a stencil and some spray paint, he made a marking on the front wall, put his pack back together, and walked off towards the boat.

When she was sure he was out of sight, Six picked the lock to the townhouse and opened the door. It seemed like a regular abandoned pre-war residence, but the beds had been recently made and there was little to no dust on the floor. There was a pile of prepackaged food on the counter – Kram, Sugar Bombs, and the like – that looked like they had just been set there. Why was Follows-Chalk delivering food to an empty house? She gave the residence a quick once-over, but found no weapons and nothing else of interest.

As she left the house, she noticed the spray-painted marking on the wall. She had been expecting a Legion bull or the usual “fuck [whatever enemy we're fighting at the moment]”, but instead, there was a small but neat outline of a train.

Shaking her head, once again confounded by the mysteries of the men of the Legion, Six headed back to the boat. It was going to be a long day.


	8. I Keep On Talking Trash But I Never Say Anything

“Hey. Asshole. Asshole. Jackass. Fuckstain. Prick. Douchebag. Doghead!”

“ _What,_ profligate?” snarled Vulpes under his breath.

“We need another pencil,” Cass hissed.

“We have already given you half of our pencils,” Alerio said. “You're not getting any more until you ask politely.”

“All you need to do is say yes,” Cass replied. “Oh, sorry, I forgot who I'm talking to. 'Yes' is something a person says when they actually like what you're doing. I know you're more used to 'no, stop, don't touch me', things like that.”

“Maybe if you used the word 'please' once in a while, you'd get a better response,” said Vulpes. He smirked. “You can ask your friend about that word, I've heard her use it enough --”

Six, who had been trying to ignore the entire conversation, snapped her fourth pencil in half and buried her head in her hands.

“Make that two pencils, doghead,” added Cass.

The final surprise – and Cass had told Jackson that it _would_ be the final surprise or she was going to have to find herself two new advisors – was the seating arrangements. The older, more established nations were at the front, while the young upstarts were seated in the back, each country with its own circular table and uncomfortable plastic chairs. And apparently, no exceptions were made for leaders that hated each other. They had started out all bunched on the far side of the table, but Cass and Vulpes had inched closer to the center, the better to hiss insults at each other without anyone else hearing. If Six's hatred for the Legion was a burning flame, Cass's had all the subtlety of a shotgun blast to the face.

At least she was enjoying herself, which was more than could be said for Six. They were four hours in and two countries on the southeastern coast were arguing about water rights. Follows-Chalk was making notes, and Jackson was at least pretending to listen, but the others at their tables had rapidly stopped paying attention. Cass and Vulpes were snarking at each other at every possible opportunity, while Six alternately ignored them and worked on a gang of Hangman that she and Alerio were passing back and forth. The man had a surprisingly good vocabulary for Legion scum.

After a lunch of poorly-constructed meatloaf and soggy vegetables, the incredibly boring assembly continued. Small conflicts were resolved, ongoing arguments about trade routes were postponed until a later date, and everyone was being so genteel and polite that it made Six want to punch someone. She had a feeling that their discussion would be the last thing on the agenda … either because both the Legion and the Delta were the new kids on the block, or because there was going to be an enormous fight after she showed the holotape.

“And now, I believe we have _yet another_ complaint between Caesar's Legion and the Delta Republic,” said the Brotherhood paladin who seemed to be emceeing the meeting. “If the involved parties would come up front, perhaps we can get this border disagreement settled once and for all.”

Vulpes slid smoothly from his chair and walked to the front. Six waited for Jackson to do the same, only to receive a hard poke in the ribs from her leader. Jackson gestured to the front. Oh, right. This was her show. Six slipped the holotape into her jacket pocket, comforted by the quiet clink of the blades sown into the lining, and picked up a manila folder full of notes before heading up to the front. The Brotherhood emcee escorted her to a seat in the front row. As the complainant, the Legion apparently was allowed to present their case first.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, voice silken and deceptive. “I won't bore you with the details of the ongoing conflict between our nations. You've heard both our sides, and I assume you've realized the truth of the situation, which is that President Jackson's advisors have some inexplicable personal vendetta against my Legion.” He stole a glance at Six, who was pretending to examine her nails. “No doubt you've heard some wild accusations made about our activities. As I have said before, and will continue to say, the sins of our former leadership should not reflect on us. Ask any resident of San Antonio or Horsetown whether the Legion has improved their quality of life.”

“Then why do you have a Legion camp right on the border with the Delta?” asked Lyons.

“We have placed troops to defend our territory, and to protect the disputed area around the Sabine River. When you're dealing with an irrational enemy, Sentinel Lyons, it is vital to prepare for any contingency.”

“If you're referring to Commander Six, she seemed perfectly rational at the cocktail party last night,” interrupted Robert Merrick. Six realized that in all the chaos, she'd never followed up on his proposition. Maybe she'd fix that situation tonight.

Vulpes pulled out a holotape from his pocket, and Six had to bite back a smile. She hated to admit it, but she and Vulpes did often have parallel thought processes, as much as “burn things, stab people, record everything” could be considered a thought process. “Lieutenant Merrick, I believe? This so-called rational woman is at the crux of our complaint against the Delta.” Six winced at his choice of words. “Our forward camp on the Sabine was burned nearly to the ground by an unknown assailant several weeks back. Fortunately, we have security cameras.” He handed the tape to the unfortunate gentleman who had been assigned to run the projector today.

The tape was about two minutes long, and clearly showed Six crossing the river, firing her gun, dropping a match, and hightailing it back across before the branches burned. In retrospect, she probably should have concealed her face a little better.

Sentinel Lyons turned to her. “Commander, do you deny these charges?”

“No,” Six said authoritatively. “I shot several legionaries and burned the camp myself. But there were exceptional circumstances.”

“Lord Caesar, what do you wish the council to do about this situation?” Lyons asked.

“We would like severe economic sanctions imposed on the Delta Republic and temporary control of the disputed region around the Sabine.” Six frowned. _That was it?_ “And we would like Commander Six remanded to our custody to stand trial for war crimes _._ ” _And there it is. You just can't resist, you motherfucker._ He left the podium and sat on the other side of the front row. She could just detect a smirk.

“Cour-- Commander Six, you've claimed responsibility for this unprovoked attack. Do you have any defense?” asked the other Brotherhood Paladin who had been leading the discussion, motioning her to the podium. She stepped up, swallowed deeply, and opened her manila folder. The first page was a crumpled piece of paper with messy handwriting, but it was the most important document to her.

“ _Six. We believe in you. We love you. You can do it. Give them hell for Raul and Boone. - Arcade and Veronica.”_

For a moment, she could feel them all at her shoulders, standing behind her, and it was as if she was wearing a set of Ranger riot gear and a sniper rifle instead of an uncomfortably tight dress and blazer. She took a deep breath.

“Paladin, I happily burned down that camp after seeing direct evidence of torture and rape on the part of the soldiers of the Legion. They crucified three women, one of whom was the sister of a Delta soldier. I went over to put them out of their misery and things escalated.”

“These old accusations again?” scoffed Vulpes. “Every council meeting we hear this. I admit that the actions of my predecessor were brutal, although necessary at the time. But today's Legion does _not_ indulge in those vices. We do not enslave, we do not rape, we do not torture.”

“Really,” Six snapped, stepping back so quickly she almost knocked her chair over. “Then I eagerly await your explanation for _this_.” She walked over to the projector, pulled out her own holotape, and handed it to the increasingly uncomfortable man running the projector. Six returned to the podium, leaned forward on her elbows, and gave Vulpes a fuck-you smile as the lights dimmed and the holotape began.

Veronica had done a hell of a job. She'd juxtaposed the still photos that Theo had taken with the audio footage that he had recorded at the camp, followed by brief interviews with Theo and Cora. Six had been surprised that the traumatized girl was willing to talk about it on tape, but Veronica kept her questioning gentle. There was another tape, taken from Theo's perspective, of him dashing through the camp to rescue Cora, and there was an audible gasp from the crowd at the sight of Cora's naked and bleeding body hanging in chains. Then they cut to the footage that Six had covertly filmed at the bridge, nearly complete; the only thing Veronica had edited out was Six looking through the contents of her bag. It ended with a few more pictures, the stills Six had taken across the river, combined with the final audiotape. After a deep internal battle, Six had okayed Veronica using it, and had thought up a fitting conclusion to their presentation.

The tape flickered to a stop. The lights came back on. Six was happy to note that several members of the council had physically shifted away from the Legion table and Vulpes himself, as if their very presence disgusted them. More than a few of them seemed to be grimacing, or blinking rapidly. Time to shove the knife in a little deeper.

Six smiled grimly and shrugged off her blazer. She swept her long hair to the side and turned to the audience, showing off her backless dress – and the deep scars, the whip marks, the red X, the bite wounds that never quite healed. The crowd's murmurs increased in volume.

“As you've probably figured out by now, I was the subject of Lord Caesar's last little story, So if he accuses me of having a vendetta against the Legion, or against him personally, he's fucking right on that one.” She met Vulpes' glare, and was surprised at the intensity. She'd only seen him this angry once before, when Shady Sands had burned. If looks could kill, she'd be ashes on the floor. Six gave a slight bow to the crowd, and stepped down from the podium. The murmurs turned to loud comments, and occasional yells. People were getting up out of their seats. She hoped they were forming a lynch mob.

Six brushed through the crowd, intent on getting back to her table, when she heard Vulpes hiss in her ear, quietly enough that no one else could hear him over the commotion. “I will personally make you pay for this. By the time I'm finished, you'll beg for a death I will never allow. You will lose _everything._ Your city, your friends, and finally yourself.”

“Cheap threats from a cheap thug,” she snapped, before Cass and Jackson grabbed her arms and pulled her forward. Sentinel Lyons was yelling for everyone to return to their tables, sit down and shut up. Eventually, people complied, and Lyons snapped, “Everyone who isn't a leader, out. Now.”

Six and Cass rose to leave, but as they headed to the door, Cass saw an open mic and grabbed it before Six could stop her. “Hi, I'm Major Cassidy of the Delta, and I wanted to say one more thing.” Cass pointed to the Legion table, where everyone was still sitting, apparently deep in discussion. “Fuck you, don't know you but probably fuck you.“ Her eyes lingered on Follows-Chalk. “You're kinda cute, come see me in 423 if you rethink your world view. Fuck you, Alerio, you're not as good in bed as you think you are. And _especially_ fuck you, Doghead.” Cass dropped the mic. “Now let's go get drunk. Diplomacy, motherfuckers! What!”


	9. The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

It was as if Six and Cass were radioactive. The hallway outside the conference room was shoulder-to-shoulder crowded, but somehow no one came within three feet of them. Everyone milled about in confusion, waiting to hear some news about what was going on in the main room.

“Why'd they have to kick us out?” asked Cass.

“Us, personally?” Six replied. “Probably because we caused a huge scene. All the others? Jackson told me that sometimes when they need to make big decisions, they ask everyone other than the leaders to leave the room so the leaders can discuss and vote.”

“Great. So we get to sit around here while everyone stares at us. Any idea how long this is going to take?”

“Not a clue,” Six said, craning her neck, scanning the crowd for their Legion counterparts. Follows-Chalk was nowhere to be seen, but Alerio was leaning casually against the wall outside a men's restroom. When Six caught his eye, he raised an eyebrow, made a beckoning gesture, and walked into the bathroom.

_I'd have to be incredibly stupid to follow him._ But by the time that thought had made itself clear, she was already pushing open the door, having lost Cass in the crowd. Alerio was kneeling on the floor next to an air-conditioning vent, listening intently.

“If you're quiet enough, you can hear them through this,” he whispered.

“And you've chosen to share this information with me … why?” asked Six, just as quietly.

“You let me walk in Nola,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders. “I owe you one. And we both want to hear what's going on in there, don't we?”

She kept one hand on her gun, but crouched down next to him. From the sounds of things, they'd already started the discussion. Six could barely hear Sentinel Lyons over the various murmurs, but made out the words “... accused of the most heinous war crimes I've ever heard of. What do you have to say for yourself?”

There was a brief pause before Vulpes spoke. “I do not expect you to understand the harsh conditions of the West, the depravities of its residents, or how difficult it was to pacify the inhabitants.”

“Sounds like you were doing a little more than pacifying,” Lyons said, in a withering tone. “Do you deny anything on those holotapes?”

“We come from vastly different cultures, Sentinel Lyons. Among our people --”

“ _Do you deny it?_ ” Lyons barked out each word.

Another, longer pause. “No. I do not.” Vulpes's voice was sharper. “And I do not appreciate being spoken to as if I were a _child_ caught stealing Sugar Bombs. I lead a nation larger and greater than all those here. We have attempted to play by your rules, and received nothing but disrespect and condescension. You have made an enemy of the Legion, Sentinel, and … well, you've just seen what happens to our enemies. Or perhaps you should ask the Mojave chapter of your organization.”

“Are you threatening me?” Lyons snapped.

“I wouldn't dream of threatening you.” _How can he be so collected?_ Six thought. _My heart is beating a thousand times a minute, and I'm just listening on the other side of a wall._ “All I am saying is that our attempts to solve this situation diplomatically have concluded. We will deal with the Delta in our own way, as we should have all along. All I ask now is for safe passage back to our territory, as we were all promised. Or was that a lie?”

“Please step into the side chamber,” said the Brotherhood emcee from earlier. “Someone will come get you when we have reached a decision.” The murmurs started again, and both Six and Alerio leaned in closer, when the sound of the door opening startled them both.

“What the fuck is going on?” asked Cass as she barged in, hand ghosting towards her purse, where Six knew her sawed-off shotgun was concealed. “I figured if anyone was going to be hooking up in a public bathroom during this meeting, it would probably be me.”

“The first and last cooperative Legion/Delta intelligence operation,” said Alerio, clearly irritated. Cass looked even more confused.

“You can listen in on them through this grate,” Six explained. “But they're too quiet right now. Want to give it a try?”

“I'll move over, but I'd appreciate if you would stop pointing that shotgun at my head,” said Alerio. “Although I doubt you can hit anything with the hangover you must have from last night. Do you ever get tired of being a drunken embarrassment?”

“Do you ever get tired of being a slaving rapist?” snapped Six in response.

Cass added, “How about I take this shotgun, turn it sideways, and shove it directly up your --”

“Yes, everyone likes to hear baseless threats from a childless, fortysomething, unmarried, alcoholic slattern and a Legion whore --”

As always, the last insult pushed Six over the edge. A minute or so later, when Cass had pried Six's fingers from around Alerio's throat and reminded them both that open aggression in front of the Brotherhood would lead to being disintegrated with plasma weapons, they heard Sentinel Lyons again and stilled.

“Lord Caesar, believe me when I say there is nothing more I would like than to have my men cut you down where you stand,” Lyons began. “But, as you said, we have always promised safe passage to those that attend our meetings. Our judgment is this. You and your men will leave here tomorrow. If any of you are ever seen in the territory of _any_ nation at this council, you will be executed without trial. The border between the Legion and the Delta stands at the Sabine River. Several of our countries have agreed to help enforce this judgment. Any further incursions on the east side of the river will be met with appropriate force.”

“Understood,” said Vulpes, sounding bored.

“Your delegation will return to your suites, and will be guarded until you leave by vertibird tomorrow," Lyons stated coldly. "I sincerely hope we never meet again.”

“For your sake, Sentinel, I hope likewise.”

Alerio stood up and dusted off his hands. “Well, that's that, then.”

“You don't seem particularly upset about receiving a death sentence,” Six said warily.

“Commander, I don't like these meetings. I don't like cozying up with enemies, I don't like being stuck in a rusting barge, and I don't like pretending that this is a problem that can be solved through endless talking. We all knew this was going to end in war, so let's get on with it and stop playing nice. And I'm guessing you agree with me on all those points.” He turned his back and walked to the door.

Right before he opened it, Six asked, “Just out of curiosity, what would you have done if they hadn't given you safe passage out of here?”

He turned his head and smiled nastily. “I was planning on holding this stupid girl who followed me into a bathroom hostage.”

After Alerio had gone, Six and Cass slumped against the wall. “He's right,” Cass said quietly. “That was pretty stupid. You've been acting reckless this whole trip, Six. What gives?”

“Eh, you know,” said Six, averting her eyes. “Just being around them. Makes my skin itch. Makes me remember things. I get angry and make dumb mistakes.” She caught Cass's gaze, saw the concern there. “Thanks for keeping me on the level, Cass.”

“Now that's a phrase I never thought I'd hear coming from you,” said Cass, laughing. “So what do you want to do tonight? Drunken celebration? Hook up with cute guys? Want to go wandering through the D.C. ruins again?” Six raised her eyebrows, and Cass grinned. “Come on. I know how much ammo I had yesterday, and I know how much I have today. I ain't mad.”

Six thought for a moment, then smiled. “You know, I think I'm going to go do something reckless and stupid _with_ a cute guy.”

Cass slapped her on the back. “Go get 'em, girl. Make me proud.”

After a quick debriefing from Jackson, Six made a quick stop at a cafeteria to pick up some snacks. There was a formal dinner going on, but she didn't want to spend an hour being stared at like the prize exhibit in a freak show. She went back to her room to eat, but the whole ship felt stuffy and uncomfortable. Six grabbed her pack and a bedroll, then headed to one of the stairwells. She needed some air.

_All in all, the Capitol Wasteland might suck enormous amounts of donkey balls, but it's damned pretty at sunset,_ Six thought.  _Must be all the radiation clouds._ She had positioned herself on the highest tower of Rivet City. A woman was singing about some wonderful guy on the radio, the Nuka-Cola she'd been saving for an appropriate occasion left a sweet taste on her tongue, and she was reading an engrossing pre-war book she'd scrounged up in a hotel room. It had been a good day, she decided. They'd gotten everything they wanted from the meeting. The Legion had no allies, the leaders would be executed if they ever got caught in the East, and the Brotherhood would be helping the Delta protect the river. She'd  _won._

So why didn't it feel like a victory?

_You will lose everything._

She shook her head, trying to drive Vulpes's words from her mind. There was a soft knocking on the hatch leading to the stairwell. Six pulled out her gun and aimed it at the hatch before asking, “Who is it?”

“Um … Lieutenant Robert Merrick? We met yesterday? Your friend said I might find you up here? Please put down whatever weapon you have pointed at me?”

Sighing, Six pushed her heavy pack off the top of the hatch and unlatched it. “Come on up.”

He climbed onto the tower, looking slightly less disheveled than the night before, but very tired. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, and for a moment she was strongly reminded of Arcade.

“Hell of a day, wasn't it,” he said softly.

“Yep,” Six agreed, taking another sip from her cola. 

“Listen, I'm sorry if I was too forward last night,” Robert said. “I just hate these meetings, and you looked so amazing in that dress, so I'm sorry if --”

“Don't be sorry,” Six said, laughing. “God. You're the only person here who hasn't treated me like I'm either a bomb ready to explode or a glass figurine. Sorry if _I_ was weird. It's been so long since anyone's tried to flirt with me like a regular human being, I probably acted like a total idiot.” 

“Then we're both total idiots,” he responded. “If you don't mind me continuing to be too forward, it's getting a little chilly up here. Want to continue this talk in my room? Or yours?”

“How about yours?” Six replied. “I think the forecast for my room calls for a high chance of potential assassins. And you're right, I'm freezing my ass off out here.” She smiled devilishly. “It would be a good night to curl up in a nice, warm bed. Got one of those?” 

Robert raised his eyebrows in surprise, but broke into a grin as he opened the hatch for her.

Several hours later, nestled under a thick comforter in Robert's bed, Six upgraded the day from “good” to “very good.” 

She hadn't been with anyone in a long time. Too long a time, really. Potential dates tended to be scared off by her job, or her attitude, or her past. If they were brave enough to take her to bed, they treated her as if she were made of porcelain and would break into tears at the slightest touch. And the few times she'd passed on the dating scene and just picked up a guy or a girl at a bar, it had been hollow and empty. Meaningless sex just wasn't her thing. 

Robert was different. He'd been gentle at first, but when she told him she could handle things a little rougher, that she'd let him know if it was too much, he'd dived in with enthusiasm. Six was always ashamed when her fantasies inevitably progressed from cooing and stroking and kissing to biting and scratching and hissing, but Robert reassured her there was nothing wrong with that.

“You probably think I'm super fucked up,” she commented afterwards. “Shouldn't I want to be held and cuddled with candles and silk sheets and stuff?”

“We're all fucked up,” he replied. “Your fucked-upness is just more … infamous. And, no offense, but given your track record for setting things on fire, I don't think candles would be a good idea.” She smacked him with a pillow. “Ow! Unprovoked physical assault! I should call the Brotherhood guards on you. But anyway, you've been through some pretty awful stuff. It changes people. Inside and out.” Robert traced one of the scars on her back.

“And those don't repulse you?” she asked.

“Nah. I dated a girl for two years who was missing an arm.” 

Morbid curiosity pushed Six to say it. “Why was she missing an arm?”

“Do you know, I never asked her?” She hit Robert with the pillow again, and he laughed. “It was a mining accident. We get them a lot up where I'm from. Lost my dad and two brothers in one.” 

“Shit,” she cursed. “Sorry to bring that up.” 

“It's all right. Like I said, we're all fucked up. I'm sure I'll reference something emotionally scarring for you within, like, ten minutes.” He smiled. “So do you want to go to sleep, or are we going to stay up all night talking like teenagers?”

Six frowned and pulled back the covers. “Actually, I need to get ahold of Cass. We promised that we'd check in with each other, and I haven't heard from her since I was on the roof.” She hopped out of bed and pulled her radio out of her pack. “Six to Cass, Six to Cass.” Nothing but silence. “Six to Cass, copy?”

“She might just be sleeping,” suggested Robert, who clearly wanted to stay in bed.

“Probably, but …” _your city, your friends …_ “I want to go check on her. You can stay if you'd like.”

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't escort a lady friend to check on her companion?” asked Robert, sitting up and reaching for a shirt. “Besides, if you get assassinated in the hallway, I'm going to feel really guilty.” 

They walked through the overly confusing hallways and up one floor to Six and Cass's room. Six, ever mindful of their group's tendency to mine doors, advised Robert to stay back before knocking on the door. She rapped on the metal door gently, then with increasing frequency as her panic level spiked. She fumbled for the key in her pack, and knew something was very wrong when the door slid open easily, no deadbolts or traps or explosives present. 

There was a bottle of fine whiskey, wrapped with a nice bow, overturned on the table. And beside it, blue-lipped and limp, lay Rose of Sharon Cassidy. Her chest rose slightly as she took a slow, shallow gasp, and then stopped breathing altogether.   



	10. The Needle And The Damage Done

“Fuck fuck shit fuck fuck ...” muttered Six under her breath as she knelt down next to Cass's lifeless body, digging through her pack. She glanced back at Robert, standing in the doorway, horrorstruck. “Get Jackson and the guards!” she ordered. “Rooms are to the left. If no one answers, start shouting for the Brotherhood. And take this.” Six pulled a gun from under her jacket and slid it over to him. “Just in case. Go!”

She stared at Cass, willing her to take another breath, but it didn't seem to be happening. The redhead still had a faint pulse at her wrist. Blue lips, not breathing, pale skin … Six pried Cass's eyelids open, noticing the pinpoint pupils.  _Med-X overdose. Probably poisoned the drink. Learn some new tricks, assholes, 'cause I can fix this._

Dropping her friend's arm, Six rooted through her bag with both hands, eventually pulling out her first aid kit. She found what she was looking for, tore off the peach-colored box, and jabbed the pre-filled syringe into Cass's arm. “Come on, come on …” she murmured to Cass. “Come on back now, we got this.”

A vaguely brownish blur skidded through the door, and Jackson materialized on the floor next to Cass and Six. Additional figures appeared in the doorway, some in power armor. “Stay back!” Jackson barked. Six picked up Cass's hand, and under the guise of rubbing it for comfort, pinched her hard on the webbing between her thumb and index finger. Cass took a deep, gasping breath, and Six let out a sigh of relief.

Six gave Cass another ampule of the antidote, slowly this time, and stopped pushing the medication when Cass opened her eyes blearily. She coughed a few times, then looked around at her friends, then the crowd in the doorway. “What happened?” Cass made a disgusted face. “My mouth tastes like Brahmin shit.”

“Play it off as something natural, but keep the guards and Merrick in here,” whispered Six to Jackson, under her breath. Jackson gave her an odd look, but walked over to the doorway. Six heard Jackson explaining Cass's heart condition to the crowd and asking for a little privacy as she fixed her friend a glass of water. When the gawkers had left, Six locked and bolted the door while their guards helped Cass to bed.

“I hate to ruin your night, guys, but can you keep watch on the door for the rest of the night?” Six asked. McAllister smiled humorlessly and said, “Did you think we weren't going to do that anyway? Heart condition, my ass. Uh, sorry for the language, ma'am.”

“I used to run with some raiders, and I know a chem overdose when I see one,” Whitley added. “And I know Major Cassidy ain't no junkie. We got your back.”

After the guards took their positions outside the door, Jackson asked Cass to tell them what happened.

“So I was holding down the fort here while Six went off and got some with this fine young man,” Cass began. Six flushed red in embarrassment, but Cass only cackled at them and went on. “I read some magazines, took a bath, then one of those Brotherhood guards knocked on my door. Once I got my shotgun out of his face he gave me a bottle of whiskey, and said it was a gift from Lyons for me and Six because of all the shit that happened today.” Cass frowned. “I thought I only had a couple of drinks. Am I losing my edge?”

“A couple shots is a lot when they're poisoned,” Six replied. Before anyone could stop her, she picked up Cass's half-empty glass and took a sip. A few seconds later, she felt a familiar rush of warmth and lightheadedness, immediately followed by a related sense of dread as memories came flooding back. She shuddered and put the glass down. “Mmm. Med-X cocktail. Legion specialty.”

“In the future, Commander, when trying to determine whether or not a drink is poisoned, could you find some method other than _drinking it yourself?_ ” asked Jackson wearily.

Six shrugged, not particularly disturbed. “We don't have a lab here, and it's not like I haven't been on the receiving end of one before. So I have a higher tolerance than Cass for Med-X, but she's got a higher tolerance for alcohol than me. Or anyone. We both drink this, in our usual amounts ...”

“And I get enough of a dose to kill me, while you just pass out and are incapacitated,” Cass finished. “Very sneaky. So what are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Six replied firmly. Cass, Jackson and Robert all turned to stare at her incredulously. “We can't prove anything. They're leaving tomorrow, and I'm guessing we'll probably be going to war with them shortly after. Pushing the issue just delays things, and I want them far away from us as soon as possible.”

“You've got a point,” Cass conceded.

“Fine,” said Jackson, although she didn't look happy about it. “But we're staying an extra day so Cass can rest. And I did promise to show you the Wasteland, Six. Cass can recuperate with the guards while we go out and have some fun.”

Cass's eyelids were drooping, and she yawned. “Okay, sounds good. I think I need some real sleep, guys. Time to hit the hay.”

Six and Robert rose from their chairs. “I'll just walk Lieutenant Merrick back to his room, okay?” Six asked. “Be back in a minute.”

Jackson smirked. “Ha. Ha. Ha. No. You're not leaving this room. Get Whitley to take him back. If you need to say your goodbyes in private, there's a bathroom over there.” With a deep sigh, Six headed to the bathroom.

“So … worst first date ever?” asked Robert, closing the door behind them.

“Would you believe I've had worse?” Six responded. She lowered her voice. “So listen. I like you and you seem like a nice guy. Which is why I totally understand if you never want to see me again. As you might have noticed, bad things tend to happen to people around me.”

He smiled, and reached up to brush his hand across her cheek. “Come on. You want to let those assholes keep ruining your life?” he asked softly. “I like you too. And I do want to see you again. Are you coming to the meeting next month?”

“Can't. We've got Carnival. And we might be at war. Or dead.”

“Then this will have to do until next time.” Robert kissed her, fiercely, before stepping away. “Try not to die. I'd like to have a real date one of these days.”

Six stood there, stunned, as Robert let himself out of the bathroom. She heard him talking to Whitley, and Jackson locking the door behind them as they left. Catching a glimpse of herself in a mirror, she grimaced. Her hair was wild and knotted, her makeup was nearly gone, and (she cursed to herself) her dress was actually on inside-out. Still … he liked her. That was something.

“Six has a boyfriend,” Cass called in a sing-song as Six slipped into bed next to her, but she sounded too sleepy for a follow-up barb. Six reached over, squeezed Cass's hand, and they both slipped away.

* * *

The next day, Six was seriously regretting not bringing along a Fat Man.

“Oh my God, Jackson. How many more ghoul-infested subways do we have to walk through to get to your friend?”

“Listen, you were the one who wanted to detour to see my Vault,” Jackson snapped.

“Yeah. Thanks for telling me you were _banned for life_ , by the way.” They'd let Six in for a perfunctory tour, but she'd found that an actual, functional Vault, with nothing to loot and no enemies to fight, was extremely dull. “What the hell did you do when you were younger? Half the people we meet are terrified of you and the other half want to kiss your feet.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” said Jackson. “Maybe we should go to the Mojave and see what they have to say about you.”

“Maybe we _should_ go to the Mojave,” Six muttered beneath her breath. “Tie you up and leave you at the gates of Freeside as a gift, maybe you'll stop riding my ass about my reports _then ..._ ”

“Did you just threaten to sell me into slavery because of paperwork?” Jackson asked. Six instantly apologized, but the older woman laughed. “I know you're just tired. And stressed.”

“And worried,” Six admitted. “I wish Arcade and Veronica were here to look after Cass.”

“She'll be fine.” They emerged from a subway to find an empty plaza. Jackson sighed. “This is where I fought my first super mutant behemoth, and where I met the Brotherhood. Good times. Come on, the studio is just around the corner.”

“Well, if it isn't the kid from Vault 101, the Wasteland's own Lone Wanderer!” said a recognizable voice the instant they stepped into the studio. The owner was a middle-aged black man with glasses and a graying beard. This must be the infamous Three Dog.

“I keep telling you, Dog, I'm not a kid, I've been kicked out of 101, I'm not wandering anything, and as you can see, I'm not alone,” said Jackson, embracing the radio man.

“Is this the lovely Miss Santangelo I've heard so much about?” said Three Dog, lifting up Six's hand and kissing it. “You're even more beautiful than your girlfriend described.”

Six let out a bark of laughter, and Jackson giggled, a sound that Six had never thought her capable of. “Sorry, Three Dog,” Jackson said. “Veronica had to stay behind and quietly try to undermine my administration. After all, elections are next year, and she'll be so disappointed if she doesn't manage to put me out of office so I can stay home and do all the housework. This is actually Commander Six, from the Mojave. Intelligence chief, famous ex-courier, general ass-kicker.”

“Oh, yeah! You're here for the interview!” said Three Dog, smiling broadly.

“I'm what for the what?” Six replied, glaring at Jackson.

“The interview where you talk about how awful the Legion is and how thankful you are that the Brotherhood chose to support you,” clarified Jackson. “Where you emphasize the human rights violations and the immediate danger they pose to the entire East Coast? So that people are okay with their money and troops being sent a thousand miles away?”

“Ohhh, that interview,” said Six, as realization dawned. She smirked. “Well, then I'll need my fee up front.”

“Fee? Three Dog doesn't pay for interviews, Commander.”

Six laughed. “Not money. I'm an intelligence officer. I deal in information. President Jackson said that you knew her father?”

“Oh, for the love of God ...” muttered Jackson, who could tell what was coming.

“And the information I want today is President Jackson's real name.”

Jackson buried her face in her hands. Three Dog looked over at her. Barely audible, Jackson said, “Fine. Tell her. Six, this interview better be fantastic.”

Three Dog frowned. “You should know better than to be ashamed of your name, Tiffany Juniper. It was your mother's dying gift.”

The air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. Six tried to catch her breath and not laugh until she passed out. “Tiffany. Tiffany Juniper. Tiffany Juniper Jackson. President Tiffany Juniper Jackson.” It was better than she could have imagined. Cass was going to erupt in spontaneous orgasms.

“My mother was a hippie!” snapped Jackson. She turned to Three Dog. “Anyway, I have those holotapes from Veronica. Ten for ten, same as last time?”

Six wiped the tears from her eyes long enough to ask, “What's going on?”

“Tiff passes holotapes between Veronica and me,” explained Three Dog. “It gives us each a fresh supply of music. The Brotherhood scribes give me any recordings they find, and Veronica is always getting new stuff from those bands you have down there, so we made a deal.” 

“Are you _quite through_?” Jackson asked Six, venom dripping from every word. Six was still laughing absently on occasion. Six coughed a few times, then took a sip of water. “Okay. Let's do this,” she said.

Three Dog busied himself with setting up the microphone. “You know, I'm glad you're fighting,” he said conversationally. “Those Legion assholes sound even worse than the slavers we have up at Paradise Falls.”

Six whipped her head around and fixed her glare on Jackson. “ _The what?_ ”

Eight hours later, the interview long concluded, Six leaned back and popped the cap off a Nuka-Cola that she'd taken from the stash of the head slaver. Eulogy Jones. Ridiculous name for an evil man. She wiped her ripper off on a raider's vest.

“Did this make you feel better?” asked Jackson sardonically, holstering her SMG and sitting down next to Six. The slab of concrete they were resting on was one of the few places in the former Paradise Falls not covered in gore.

“Actually, yeah, it did,” Six said, taking a sip. “Thanks for taking me here.”

“Well, you pretty much insisted,” replied Jackson, taking Six's proffered bottle. “And to be honest, I always wanted to do this myself. Just never had the guts to take them on my own.”

“Why didn't the Brotherhood wipe them out years back?” Six asked. “The NCR would never have stood for a slaver camp in their territory.”

Jackson sighed. “It's complicated. This isn't California or the Mojave, Six. This place got  _trashed_ in the war. No infrastructure, no clean water, no anything. When I lived here, the raiders pretty much ran the place, and the Brotherhood had a tiny amount of territory that they could barely control. Things are better now, but the Brotherhood thinks if they expand too much farther out, it'll weaken their hold on downtown. They're still recovering from fighting the Enclave.” 

“But they're willing to go to war a thousand miles away,” Six said.

“Because Lyons isn't stupid. The Brotherhood controls the former Confederacy, just to our east. If the Delta falls, they're next on the chopping block. And the Brotherhood communicates enough to know what happened out west. Inculta brought up the Mojave Brotherhood in the closed-door meeting because he knew that they knew that ...” Jackson sighed yet again, and gestured to the carnage around them. “Running the Delta is complicated. This was so much simpler. I miss those days.”

“Hey, give us enough time and we can carve up Vegas just like this,” replied Six, patting Jackson on the back. She paused for a second, then said what she'd been thinking since the meeting. “Jackson, I don't know if we can win this war. Even with the Brotherhood. Every time I think I've won, _every time,_ he kicks my feet out from under me. And I don't want you all to fall with me.”

Jackson drained the last of the Nuka-Cola, then tossed the bottle at a metal shack, where it shattered. “Don't worry,” she said. “We'll win. Or we'll all go down fighting. Sic semper tyrannis, bitches.”


	11. The Pearl of the Quarter

And then nothing happened.

The Legion's forward camp along the river had gone quick as a flash, its residents packing up and moving to safer territory in the middle of the night. Now the only people on the Sabine were Brotherhood and Delta patrols, trying to uneasily work side by side to secure the territory. They had expected a war, and were unsure about what to do now that one didn't appear to be forthcoming.

All Six's intelligence reports placed the bulk of the Legion's army, along with the Malpais Legate, at least ten hours away in Texas. Vulpes appeared to have returned to New Vegas. No one had any idea where Alerio was, but considering the nature of his work, that was no surprise. The unexpected lack of conflict, along with some nasty and unseasonable storms that trapped everyone inside for days at a time, did not put Six in the best of moods.

“I thought these things were supposed to come in the summer,” she complained, watching bits of trees and old world detritus go flying past her porch.

“Get away from the window!” Arcade called. When Six returned to him in the kitchen, he explained, “Actually, they used to be only in the summer and fall, but after the Great War messed up the climate, they started appearing randomly. Another thing we have to thank the geniuses of the old world for.”

A lock turned in the door, and Veronica, Cass, Theo and Cora all came in, soaking wet and shivering. “Never thought I'd miss the desert,” said Veronica, pulling a blanket off the couch and taking Six's offered mug of cocoa.

Cora sat on the couch by Theo's side. The former slave still twitched frequently, clung to Theo at every possible opportunity, and rarely slept without nightmares. Arcade had been working with her daily and had managed to get her to stop repeating Legion propaganda and trying to kill herself, but Six privately thought that Cass had done the most work towards returning Cora to a functional state. Cass's vivid descriptions of the Legion in general (“Lord Fuckface and the Jackass Brigade”) and Cora's former owner in particular (“He didn't look so intimidating when I tied him to a chair, rode him like a cowgirl, then smashed his head into a wall, hah!”) always drew a rare smile from Cora.

Six had tried talking to her on a few memorable occasions. They'd spent some hours talking over their experiences, and Six was almost perversely happy to discover someone who had suffered as much as she had. The life of a personal slave to one of the more sadistic officers tended to be extraordinary painful, and (if they were lucky) quite short. But the next week featured four nightmares that sent Six crawling into Arcade's bed in the early hours of the morning and one near panic attack after reading an admittedly graphic intelligence report from a Brotherhood patrol west of the river. So Jackson requested, in the way that isn't really a request when it comes from your boss, that Six leave Cora's recovery to Arcade and Theo.

“Cocoa? Cocoa? Anyone want some?” Six asked. Cora drank her cup greedily, nervous eyes flitting back and forth as if someone would come take it from her hand. Cass unashamedly pulled a flask of something potent and foul-smelling from her pocket, mixed in a few drops, then tucked the flask back away, daring anyone to say something. Theo shook the glass away disdainfully. Old habits die hard.

Six leaned back on her chair and pulled out a fresh notebook. “So, unofficial anti-Legion task force, last meeting before the Carnival. Any new business?”

Nothing but dead air.

“Any rumors? Any sightings? Any wild goose chases?” she asked.

“Nothing, nada, bupkiss,” Cass replied. “The bulk of their army isn't withing spitting distance of the river, the Brotherhood has fortified everything to the west all to hell, the only road east is mined and covered in Delta troops, So, unless something changes, I'd really love to go to Carnival tomorrow and get my rocks off. And a few of you could stand to follow my lead.” Cass shot death glares at Six, Veronica and Arcade.

“My civic duty to the citizens of Nola requires me to attend and report on the happenings at the Carnival. And that means that while I'll be there, I've got to be sober,” said Veronica. “Also I promised Jackson a ride home.”

Before Cass could even start on Arcade, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Cassidy, I've spent half of my life patching up the drunk and injured from casinos, bar fights, skirmishes and worst of all, Carnival-type holidays. I don't think I'll ever recover from Mr. House's last birthday bash. This good Samaritan needs a night off. I'm planning on some light reading, a long walk, a hot bath, and a deep sleep.”

Cass spun toward her final target, finger already pointed at Six. “You! You have no excuse! Your enemies are far away, you've been a constant ball of vibrating stress for _months,_ and your fucking boyfriend took a vertibird down here to see you!”

“Technically, Merrick took a vertibird to finalize a non-military trade agreement between the Delta and the Shenandoah --” Veronica interjected.

“And he's radioed you like four times and you've picked up once!” continued Cass, who was never one to get distracted during a good tirade. “See, someone's calling right now! It's probably him. Just pick it up! Just pick it -” With an air of formality, Six put her radio on mute.

Unbeknownst to Cass, Six and Robert had in fact met up for a couple beers his first night in town, followed by a very inspiring roll in the hay, followed by a much less inspiring crying session on Six's part.

“Hey, hey. It's all right,” he'd soothed her, running his hand across her shoulders. She jerked like she'd been shot when his thumb brushed the brand on her shoulder, fell off the bed,and redoubled her tears.

“I'm – sorry,” she managed to gasp between sobs. “I really like you. I – do. But this shows – I'm either paranoid and crazy for no reason – or I'm a danger to you just by being around.”

Robert carefully traced the smooth, exposed leg of her calf. “I'm not going into this blind, Six. I know you're not crazy. I know what happened, and I know what _could_ happen, and I still want to see if we can make … whatever this is … work. But if you need to back off until your head's back in the game, I understand.”

Six looked at him. “You wouldn't be mad?”

“Nah. We've all had times when we had to get our shit together. When you feel ready – if you want to give it another shot – I'll be waiting.” Robert smiled a little bit. “Well, unless I run into a super-genius Raider girl wearing one of those bikinis made of scrap metal who can both cook and debate about 20th century political campaigns, In that case, I'd have you two fight it out, marry the winner, and roast and eat the loser's heart to gain her knowledge.”

“That doesn't work, I tried,” Six said, leaning back into his chest. “You just get worms.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. Six thought she heard Veronica's radio station playing from the speakers in someone's window. Some song about a garden wall and a stardust memory. It was perfect. "I don't deserve you,” she murmured into his shoulder, half-asleep.

“Something like me doesn't deserve a woman like you,” Robert responded, and the phrasing was strange enough that she would have brought it up had she not instantly fallen asleep.

The next morning, he was gone, and Six would have been irritated at the cliché if Robert hadn't left her a beautiful display of flowers, lace, and most importantly, blintzes with strawberries and sour cream. The attached card simply contained his number and the words “When you're ready.”

But back to the present. “I think I'm going to follow everyone else, Cass,” Six said. “A quiet night in, some studying, maybe a walk.” She caught Arcade's eye, and he winked back at her. They were both on the same wavelength.

With a few grumbling comments about party poopers, Cass and Vero departed for the Carnival in Center City, where they were meeting up with Jackson and thousands of intoxicated partygoers. Theo and Cora, who were looking pretty cozy together, headed to their single-story home a few miles north. And after their guests had left, Arcade and Six locked and bolted the door before heading upstairs to their library.

Six flopped into her desk chair like it had personally offended her, then began paging through the messy papers scattered over the mahogany surface.

Arcade sat in a recliner and gently picked up one of Six's books. _The History of the Crescent City, 1900-2077._ He looked through a few others. Geography. Meteorology. War strategy. There was something coalescing in her brain, but he knew if he pressed too hard, it might flutter away, never to be see again.

“What's going on , Six?” he asked quietly. “Why are we here?”

Six didn't look up from her notes. “You're here for the same reason I am. You feel it in the air too. Something bad is going to happen, probably tonight. So let's think.” She dropped the notes down on her desk and began to pace.

“The west is a no-go,” Six said, pulling out a wrinkled map of Nola and spreading it on the table. “The Brotherhood has it locked up tighter than Cassandra Moore's ass. Patrols and roadblocks on the Ten and 55, along the big river, and any other road that goes north to south. Half of the Carnival will be armed, and I'm sure a few will be sober enough to shoot straight. The lake's to the north and the swamp's to the south, The east is mostly jungle, and the only access is the Ten, which, once again, is heavily guarded.”

“Are we sure about the Ten? East and West?” Arcade asked.

“Reports are accurate of an hour ago, and I'd automatically be notified of any distress signals or bypassed barricades.” Six frowned. “There's practically no way to invade this city, so why does it seem like it was built on a catastrophe curve?”

“Do you need some time to think?” asked Arcade. Six nodded, lost in thought. “Then I'm going to pick up a couple of these books and retreat to the tub. I wasn't kidding when I said I needed a hot bath. Yell if you have a flash of inspiration.”

Six heard a deep groan as Arcade lowered himself into the tub and she sank back into her chair. Was she just being overly paranoid? Had her instincts failed her? Should she just relax and go down to the Carnival with everyone else, and forget her past for just one night?

Somewhere to the east, something caught the sun, sending flickering lights across Six's desk. And as if he was standing right behind her, she heard Vulpes's voice in her ear. _Looking the wrong way again?_

Six swung around, but there was no one there. _Excellent. I'm hallucinating my enemies. That's certainly a sign of good mental health. Well, I might as well roll with it._

She stood and walked to the eastern window, opened it, and stepped out onto the balcony. Squinting at the ruins and jungle that lay across the canal, she thought she saw something –

Movement. Could be animals. Metal. Could be debris. But movement and metals, that meant men, men with weapons.

You couldn't get an invasion force through that terrain.

 _Who said anything about invading? w_ hispered the sibilant voice in her head. _Who would want a city full of degenerates? A hundred thousand men couldn't capture this city. But twelve could destroy it. It's already destroying itself._

More glints. More movements. “Arcade? Could you come up here? And bring the book of historic maps?” Six said, never taking her eyes off the window. And the canal. At least everyone was in Central City --

_Drive the rats to the shore, then drown them._

She ran out of the office and into the bathroom, where a startled Arcade handed her the map bookwhile trying to conceal his nudity with a towel. She flipped almost to the end of the book and pointed accusingly at a line.

“Is that a second road from the East?” she growled at Arcade. _And if a few people go missing along the way, well, they must have just died in the flood,_ the voice continued, and Six contemplated stabbing an ice pick through her ears.

Arcade put on his glasses and squinted. “Huh. I believe it is. Highway … 90? From the Gulf all the way into east Nola. It's not charted on anything after the war, so it was probably destroyed. It doesn't look like it was too far above sea level. What does this have to do with --”

“There's movement in the East. Men with metal. I think it's infiltrators.” She grabbed Arcade's wrist as he reached for his radio. “No! Something bad is going to happen, and then everyone's going to run, and then something even worse is going to happen. If we alert everyone now, they'll set whatever it is off right away, and we'll be caught unprepared. We need to take things easy.”

So it was that Six and Arcade calmly got dressed, packed their bags of supplies, had a light snack to keep their blood sugar up, then left their home and walked slowly but steadily towards the canal.

It was only after they saw the first man packing C-4 into the side of a levee that they started running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely, I have returned. For any interested parties, the gang lives at 3405 Royal St.


	12. New Orleans Is Sinking

The first man died with a bullet to the head. Strategically, it would have been better to keep him alive, try to figure out what he knew, but Six could feel her pulse pounding in her head, and a red tide of anger covered everything. _My city. My city. How fucking dare they._

Arcade gently rolled the body over, grabbed his weapons, and handed his radio to Six. It took only a few minutes before they found a disturbance, a loose mound of dirt near the base of the levee.

“Fuck,” Arcade muttered. They scrabbled at the loose soil with their hands until they hit the hard dirt below. Arcade had pulled out enough C-4 to make the Boomers envious. They deposited the explosives in an abandoned building a block inward. Arcade kicked an empty dresser in anger. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is enough to blow a hole clear through to the canal. We have to tell Jackson.”

“How?” Six asked, twisting the dials on the man's radio. “They've got to be listening in. Can you think of any way to get a message to her without tipping them off to set off any other explosives?”

Arcade thought for a moment, then frowned. “Not unless I can run really, really fast.” He kicked the dresser again, and cursed as he stubbed his toe. “So what are we going to do, Six?”

She frowned as well. “The only thing I can think of is to take out as many of the caches as possible and try to catch someone alive for information. I don't think they'll explode until …” Six paused for a minute. “I think something else is going to happen, and when it does, we'll go from there.”

“That's a terrible plan, but all your plans are always terrible and I've got no better ideas and at least this one doesn't involve running behind enemy lines, so let's go with it,” Arcade said drily.

A few blocks to the north, Arcade spotted a suspicious man loitering with his hands in the pockets of his coat. The moment Six and Arcade started running towards him, he reached for his radio and disintegrated into a pool of plasma.

“Nice shot,” Six remarked, pocketing the man's weapons as Arcade began to dig through another pile of loose soil by the levee.

“I have my moments,” he replied. “Help me haul these away from the canal, will you?”

They caught the third man by surprise, but he was fairly adamant that he would die before giving up any information. A few choice words directed at Six ensured that his wishes were granted. The fourth cache was guarded by a pale young man with uneven blond hair, who was staring to the west as if seriously considering taking off and joining the Carnival. His daydreams were interrupted by a cold steel circle pressed against the back of his neck

“Hands up,” Six said, circling the unfortunate youth. Tentatively, he raised them to shoulder level, and Six made short work of his weaponry and radio before drawing her own knife. He gulped as she pressed the tip of the blade to his throat.

“Tell us the plan,” she ordered. “All of it. Now. And tell us where the other explosives are.”

“There's nothing worse you can do to me than what they'd do if I gave in,” the man whispered, eyes still on Six's hand.

“Really?” Six trailed the blade down his body before resting it at the junction of his legs. “Try me.” She dug it in slightly to his upper thigh. “One more chance, or you start losing body parts. Slowly. Starting with these.” Of course, the Delta didn't torture, never had, but he didn't have to know that. She lowered her voice and said, “I'm the _Courier_ , sweetheart. I bet you've heard some campfire stories. I've killed thousands of your sort. Do you really think I'd hesitate before cutting your balls off?”

The young man squeaked rapidly as she moved the blade up. “Wait! The explosives are a few hundred feet north. I got distracted and wandered. I don't really want to do this, but they said if I --”

“Don't care about your life story,” Six snapped, nodding to Arcade, who removed his plasma pistol from the failed infiltrator's neck and headed to the spot the man had indicated. “Tell me about the rest.”

“Eight sites total,” he said. “Three to the north of the Ten, five to the south. We came in through some old road in the swamp; a lot of the people to the east are still mad about what you did to the Confederacy and they helped us. A few of the more experienced ones are going to do something at the Carnival --” the man yelped as the knife bit further into him. “Please! I don't know what it is! All I know is that it's going to drive people east, and then we set off the explosives, and then they're going to come over the bridge.”

“What bridge?” she asked. “And who's coming over? Why?”

“The Saint. Mostly the people from the east, the old Confederates. Some of our men to keep them in line. They're there to kill whoever escapes the flood and --” He paused for a moment, seemed to calculate something, then made a decision. “I don't know. They don't tell me anything. Please move the knife. Your hand is shaking. Please.”

Six returned the blade to his throat just as Arcade walked back up, dusting off his hands. “The rest of the explosives. Where are they?”

“I don't know!” the desperate man squeaked. “Like I said, they don't tell me anything. Please just let me go.”

“Doesn't work that way, kid,” she replied, pulling a set of handcuffs from her pack with the hand that wasn't holding the knife. Six nodded at Arcade, and he shoved the young legionary down against a lamppost. Six grabbed the man's hands and snapped the cuffs on.

“Wait!” he cried. “You can't – if the levee breaks, I'll --”

“Then it's a good thing you told me everything you know,” Six said, preparing to walk away. She glanced back at the panicking man. “Unless you had something to add?”

 The pale youth weighed his options and found them lacking. “I know one of the sites is at World's End, near the river. And one up near the Pontchartrain. I don't know the rest.”

 “Then you best hope we find them,” Six said, turning back to walk with Arcade.

 When they were out of earshot, Six repeated all the information she had gathered to Arcade. The doctor frowned and reached for his pack, and Six had to bite back a giggle as he pulled out a weathered map. _Just like Arcade, to bring a paper map when I've got the whole world on my Pip-Boy._

“So, they've got eight caches in total, five south, three north. We've got four of the five south … except for the one at World's End.” He bit his lip. “Do you want to say it, or should I?” After a few seconds of silence, he continued, “I think we're going to have to split up.”

“Agreed,” she confirmed. “I'll go south, you go north, meet up at the Saint or see you in hell.” Six threw herself into Arcade's arms and gave him a brief but tight hug. “No goodbyes,” she whispered in his ear. “But you know I love you.”

 Six's journey was made significantly easier by the presence of a rusted but functional bicycle a few blocks south of where she and Arcade split. It would have looked ridiculous to anyone watching – an angry woman pedaling furiously down the street, gun clenched between her palm and the handlebar, long black hair streaming behind her, still braided and feathered from the Carnival parade. 

The agent assigned to watch the southernmost explosives was actually checking the C-4 as he came into Six's view, which made it very easy to shoot him in the back of the head. The C-4 load here was twice as big as at the other sites, and it took her two trips to haul it to a safe distance. Afterwards, she took the bicycle a few blocks west and pedaled up the road, trying to decide whether to head east to defend the Saint or go help Arcade find the remaining explosives. The streets were mostly deserted, so a flash of movement in a doorway at the corner of Dauphine caught her attention. Six slowed the bicycle in front of the rowhouse, long enough to see a crude, but distinct, spray-painted train next to the doorbell.

_I really shouldn't. But I still think these train houses are Legion safe spots._ Three kicks, and the wood splintered. She heard scurrying and shouting inside, rounded the corner to the kitchen with her gun drawn, and found herself facing down a five-year-old boy with a BB gun. 

“Um.” The boy looked terrified, terrified enough to pull the trigger, and while the BB gun wouldn't do anything to her combat armor, it could still put somebody's eye out. “Can I speak to your mommy or daddy, please?”

Not taking his eyes (and gun) off Six, the boy shouted something. A frightened, emaciated woman emerged from a back room, holding a baby, and gasped. She began frantically speaking in a language at that Six had never heard before. Slowly, Six lowered her gun until it was pointed at the floor.

“I'm not here to hurt you,” she reassured the woman. Nothing but an angry glare and more gibberish. Six looked at the little boy. “Do you speak English? Can you tell her I'm not here to hurt her? I made a mistake. But you need to get out of here, it's not safe.”

“We not leave!” said the child defiantly, in heavily accented English. “We not go back! Not hurt us!”

“I'm not going to hurt you, I promise, but you have to ...” Six's voice trailed off as she looked at the scared mother, at the skirt that had ridden up high enough to expose a pattern of scars on her thigh. She took a step forward. “Where are you from?”

“Get away!” screamed the boy, as his mother hurriedly pulled down her skirt and the baby began to cry. Six immediately retreated to the door, and as her radio crackled, she remembered that she had more pressing duties than the mystery of the trains. She'd follow up on whatever the hell this was – _and if someone's trafficking people through my city I'm going to skin them alive –_ later. She backed through the door, gun still at the ready, and prepared to mount the bicycle.

The radio flared to life. A few static noises, and then Jackson's voice, low and calm enough to be concerning. “Mayday. Mayday. All security personnel outside the Carnival, prepare to copy.”

Six dropped the bicycle and ran to the northeast, radio pressed to her ear, as Jackson continued. “There has been a suspected chemical weapon attack at Carnival. A rapid evacuation has minimized casualties, but the agent continues to spread. Contingency plans to evacuate downtown wards in the direction of the Ninth and Seventeenth are now in effect. The first group should be arriving at Bywater in ten minutes.” _Shit shit shit. Now or never. Hope you're at high ground, Gannon._

Taking a deep breath, Six pressed her transmit button. “Jackson, it's Six. Don't go east, it's a trap, the levees –“ was all she was able to get out before a horrible screech made her almost drop the radio. The next thing she heard was a cracking noise and a loud bang. She held her breath for a few seconds, expecting a wall of water to crush her at any moment, before she realized most of the noise had come from the radio. Six let out a breath when she heard Arcade's voice on the speaker a minute later. “Breach in the upper Ninth, by the lake! Possible second breach by the cold storage warehouse to the east, flood walls holding west and south of the park!”

The heavy rain had started again, but Six could just barely see the waterfront through the storm. She almost dropped to her knees in thanks when she saw the levees had held. “Bywater's clear!” she exclaimed on the radio, sprinting headlong towards the canal before a glint in the distance jogged her memory. “Shit. Jackson, don't send civilians here. We need military and security at the Saint as soon as possible.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Cass this time, sounding somewhat buzzed. “Six, the hell?”

“Just get over here!” More metal, more glints, as she approached the west side of the bridge known as the Saint. “Armed men at the Saint, I'll try to hold them off –“

“Don't be an idiot, Six!” Jackson yelled, but she was already hopping from a rotted tree stump onto the metal framework of the bridge. The glints were getting stronger. Lightning flashed, and the canal ran deep and roiling below her as she hurriedly assembled a sniper rifle. This had never been her strong suit, but picking off a few men in the distance was preferable to waiting for them to get into pistol range. She heard other voices on the radio – Arcade, Cass, others that she recognized but was too focused to place – all headed to the Saint.

Finally in a good position, twelve feet up near the west end of the bridge, she squeezed off a couple shots towards the approaching group. But the wind and rain made it difficult to see, and almost impossible to aim. _What I wouldn't give for a grenade launcher right about now._ As they drew closer, she estimated the group at about seventy men, well-armed and decently armored in mostly salvaged combat armor. No insignias, but a few clear leaders, one of whom she managed to take out with the rifle, along with several of his men, before they hit the bridge.

Shots from behind her indicated that backup had arrived. Six tossed the sniper rifle into the raging water and pulled out her favorite SMG. As an afterthought, she also grabbed A Light Shining in Darkness, and tucked it into the waistband of her armor. Short bursts of SMG fire cut a few men down before they targeted her position. Scrambling on the wet surface, she danced across the rusty metal, feeling cold and wet and tired and utterly, gloriously _alive._ Forget diplomacy, forget paperwork, this was what she missed, spinning on the edge of the knife, dodging bullets – except she wasn't really dodging them. The men who had targeted her were aiming to wound or distract, not kill, which Six found incredibly irritating.

 “What, not gonna shoot me?” she jeered to the fighters below her. “Better think again, because I won't stop until you're all dead. This is _my city_ , not yours, not _his,_ and I'll be damned if I ever --”

 A thin, reedy scream distracted her. For the first time in the fight, Six looked behind her. There were about fifty defenders on the Delta side. She saw Jackson giving orders from the middle of the pack, Cass crouched by the levee with a shotgun and a smirk, Arcade trying to aim his pistol and wipe the rain from his glasses at the same time –

 And Theo, lying lifeless on the ground, with a sobbing Cora over him. Within seconds, a burst of crimson erupted from her neck, and her corpse fell on top of his.

 God. She had been stupid, so stupid, trying to be the _hero_ , taking point on the bridge when her friends needed her back with them. A few more cracks, a few more fallen on each side, and her eyes made contact with Robert Merrick just as a shotgun blast tore apart his chest.

“No!” she screamed. She hadn't been in love with him, of course, not yet, but it had been progressing to serious like, and she'd warned him that bad things tended to happen around her, but she couldn't take another dead person haunting her dreams, killed because of her. _All my fault, all my fault, Boone I'm so sorry –_

But Robert wasn't falling with Cora and Theo. For a moment, she wondered whether he was wearing a ballistic vest, and then she saw the wound. Peeled skin and red blood, as expected, but beneath where she'd expect bone and gore there were wires and metal and something that looked like a human heart but wasn't. And he was still fighting, as if he hadn't even been hit.

“What are you?” she whispered to herself, distracted from the battle. Someone below was shooting at her again. She tried to jump left, but with her eyes still on Robert, she slipped on the metal and had to grab it with both arms to keep from falling.

Which is why the next burst from an enemy submachine gun, instead of sending her off-balance, hit her in the side.

 A searing pain in her left chest, and she understood this was serious, unfixably serious. Her armor had stopped a lot of the damage, but one shot had hit her just below the collarbone, and another had slipped in beneath her raised left arm. Swearing incoherently, she cut away the plating to inspect the damage. The wound to her side was bleeding heavily, but she was more worried about the one below her collarbone, which was bubbling. She tried to cover it with her hand, but she kept slipping in the rain, and every breath was harder to force out. Six fumbled around in her bag for a decompression needle and bandages. The blood made her lose her grip on her pack, sending it tumbling into the water.

_Five minutes at most. If I could just get to Arcade._ But there was no way she was getting back to the west side of the bridge. Her left arm was nearly useless and her other limbs were numb and slippery. Light-headed. Couldn't breathe. Dimly, she registered that no one was shooting near her anymore. Instead, a few combatants had gathered below her, waiting for her to lose consciousness and fall. Ten feet behind enemy lines, she wouldn't have a chance.

Fuck no. She wasn't getting caught again. Death before dishonor. Boone would be proud of her. This time. This time.

She wished Arcade didn't have to see it.

One last push with her legs, and she flung herself over the side of the bridge, past the surprised fighters waiting for her to fall, past metal and air into the raging waters of the canal. It was cold at first, but then a pleasant warmth settled in her bones as she lost consciousness. Of all the ways to die, it wasn't the worst.

 

* * *

 

Beep.

Beep.

The afterlife was cold and noisy. A whirring sound in the background, machines beeping. Small, confined, metal. A tearing agony in her chest. Something blocking her mouth, her nose, tubes in her chest and arms and abdomen. Was it going to hurt like this forever?

A voice, vaguely familiar but not one she could place. A silhouette in the dark, looking out a window. Hell is other people.

“Your side won, by the way,” the voice said, sounding tired but amused. Not her friends, not _him,_ but someone she knew. A sharp pain as another needle entered her arm. The aching faded. She closed her eyes.

“Doesn't it feel good to be the winner?”

She fell asleep.

Beep.


	13. I'll follow your casket on a pale afternoon

Her memory was a broken holotape, skipping and slowing with no rhyme or reason. One moment Six was blinded and paralyzed, the whistle of air coming from the machine between her cracked lips her only connection to the outside world. Then seconds later, she walked through unfamiliar hallways with women she couldn't recognize, until she fell to her knees and gasped for breath. A skeletal blonde girl hauled her to her feet, and she was back in Nola, running along the river. She was back in California, leaning over a map with faceless figures next to her. Other places, other times, some blurry and some clear. Once she thought she heard her parents before waking up clawing at her wrists.

Brain damage, maybe. Lack of oxygen will do that. After all she'd been through, it would be a pathetic way to go. No bullets or crosses, nothing that dramatic, just trapped in her own head while her body gibbered and drooled and wasted away. Maybe she was dead already and all she was seeing was the last few seconds of wildly firing neurons, expanding out to infinity. Benny would be howling at her from his grave if he'd ever gotten one. (Six had left him lying on the arena floor in a pool of his own blood, a machete in his neck, before she'd walked out of the Fort and never came back.)

Eventually, things began to right themselves. The pain in her chest, where the bullet had torn apart her rib cage, was something of an anchor. If it hurt, then she was awake, and it was real. Six spent most of her time asleep, and when she found herself up she never remembered how she got there. Two women came in occasionally to make sure she was well-fed and healing. They'd take her on walks through short hallways. No one spoke a word to her, but Six had always prided herself on figuring things out. Clearly, she was back in New Vegas – she could recognized that much from the tent, the medical supplies, and the scouring sandy winds that occasionally drifted in through the bottom of the tent. There was nothing to but rest, plan, get strong, and wait. Arcade had once told her, when they were hunched in a bunker together, that you can't run forever, The only way out is through,

She was only conscious a few hours a day at first. When Six grew strong enough to fight off the injections the women gave her, they took to dosing her water. To help mitigate the mind-numbing effects of the drugs, she worked out as much as she could – sit-up, pull-ups, jogging in place – and read the few books that were delivered to her room. The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich and The Odyssey were happily perused and returned at her leisure. The Story of O was returned rapidly with enough force to split it into several pieces. 

Six spent a lot of time whispering into the crook of her wrist, hoping against hope that the tracking device implanted there could also pick up audio. Late at night, she'd pull the flimsy blanket she'd been given over her head and talk to her arm, “Vero, Veronica,Vero, I'm in trouble … Cass, where are you guys? Cass? Arcade! Come on, Arcade, you promised you'd never let me come back here again, you promised! Fuck!”

She smacked her arm into a radiator grille and let out several invective Latin curses. And then she heard a chuckle, coming from device near the ceiling. A not-so-secret camera. Six quickly blinked away her tears and spun to gave the camera her fiercest look. She recognized that laugh.

“Inculta.” Six waited a few beats before she followed up with, “You are a fucking coward.” 

Any noise from the camera had ceased.

“Hit it right on the mark, there, didn't I?” she crooned. “You couldn't invade Nola, so you sent in your goons to blow it up. And when they couldn't even do that right, you had to knock me out, almost drown me, and then have your little henchmen bring me back as a trophy. Can't be bothered to get your hands dirty anymore?” She probed further into the telling silence. “You … you were scared of me, weren't you. You were scared I would win. You've always kept me tied down and drugged and injured and weak – was that because you knew I could beat you in a fair fight?” Six grinned into the darkness. “The Lord of the Legion, done low by a woman. It's pretty pathetic. I like it. When my friends come to save me, I think I'm going to --”

“Your friends think you're dead.” Six couldn't see Vulpes's facial expressions through the cameras and wires separating them, but she could feel the grin in that statement.

Six scowled up into the ceiling as her heart fell. “Bullshit, you're lying.”

“Am I? Take a look at your arm again.” Six looked, and saw a thin vertical scar. “Alerio had that little piece of metal wedged between some rocks in the river less than an hour after you fell. A few feet away from a body of a girl that looks just enough like you.”

“My friends know me, you asshole! They're not gonna be fooled by some cheap imitation corpse, even if it's got my clothes and chip and … you motherfuckers took another one of my Pip-Boys!” Those things were expensive. 

“I don't need to prove anything to you,” Vulpes said, calm and collected as ever. “If you wish to cling to the fantasy of the drunk, the deviants and the piece of metal who pretends he's a human riding in to save you, guns blazing, go ahead. But if you decide to accept reality, there's more than enough evidence.” Another, lower voice this time. Alerio, “One body looks like another after several days in the water. And when the swamp dragons have done their work, tattoos and scars and facial features are … irrelevant. We even have pictures of your funeral. The good doctor was quite distraught.”

Another pause. Trying not to sound like she'd been swallowing glass, Six creaked out, “When was the funeral?”

“About two months ago. You've been gone a long time, Courier.”

Six wanted to scream and argue, but what was done was done, She needed to focus on the here and now. “So what's next?” she asked, voice cracking only a little. 

“Not enjoying your accommodations?”

Six tried to gather the remains of her bravado. “I know I'm not here for an extended vacation, so I'd prefer we just move on to the main event.” The only way out is through, said Arcade in her head. 

A moment's pause, and then Vulpes's voice returned. “I will take this into consideration. As such, I suggest you take a good long drink from the water bottle on the table you've been refusing to touch all day. Get your sleep, dear Courier. You'll need it.”

Six rolled her eyes at how cliché that last line came off. The camera clicked off with a sense of finality, but that didn't stop Six from giving it the finger pretty much continuously as she lay back in bed and drained the water in three gulps. She was out within five minutes for the first time in years. 

Six could say this about drugged drinks – they gave her quality sleep with fantastic dreams. She'd been flying across the Mojave as a dragon, burning the wicked with her mighty flame breath, when a kick in the ribs brought her back to reality. 

:”Woman, get up.” When she remained wheezing on the floor of the medical tent, the man – a decanus, she could tell by his outfit – grabbed her by one of the straps of her tank top and yanked her to her feet. His companion, a man defined by a cracking voice, general youth, and poorly repaired armor, seemed to be a teenage recruit. These were not class A recruits. What kind of game was this?

The decanus had shredded the remainder of her tank top and shorts. Six had expected stares at her naked body, but the decanus flinched and averted his eyes immediately, then told the recruit to 'get the slave rags on her as soon as possible.' Six smirked as she shrugged on the rough cotton garment. Her body – hard and a little too skinny now, imbued with ink and metal and scars and a thousand other stories etched in her skin. Her body made them shy as schoolboys, and she grinned.

The decanus cuffed her on the head, then loosely tied her wrists and ankles together. “Listen, slut. Your little vacation in the medical tent is over. Caesar wants to talk with you, for what reason I can't imagine, but I follow orders. Any resistance means pain. Any attempts to attack us mean death. Don't talk to me, I don't give a shit about your life story or your sob story, and unless you've got tits of solid gold you can't tempt me to free you with your body..” The decanus --- who Six had privately decided to rename Fuckface – was clearly unhappy with this assignment. 

The motley crew proceeded out of Six's accommodations. From the outside, it was obvious that she had been in some sort of medical complex. She recognized some of the women who'd been taking care – the tall, mute blonde woman, a small, quick dark-skinned child, and Siri, one of the only other long-term survivors of this war. Six smiled at Siri, who quickly looked away. 

Out they walked, into the shining, sterile land of New Vegas. The towers of the Tops and the Ultra-Luxe seemed even taller and brighter than they had ten years ago. The rubble had been cleared, making way for permanent barracks instead of tents. In the distance, down by Lake Mead, she could see another city forming up from the remains of Camp Golf, and another one at Bitter Springs. Gods damn him for making the desert bloom. While they walked, they were treated to a non-stop grumbling monologue from Fuckface mostly centered on the theme of how worthless and pathetic Six was, and all the other more important things he could be doing with his time, and why it was ridiculous that Alerio had ordered him to disarm (and at that Six snuck a peek at two very badly-concealed daggers in Fuckface's waistband.) The other recruit, nicknamed Squeaky, didn't say much, but kept a tight grip on her arm. 

As Six and her escorts descended a few rough stairs, something shiny caught her eye. It was Alerio, spinning a denarius and winking. When he was sure he'd gotten Six's attention, he pointed to Fuckface, one of whose knives was already halfway out of its binding. Alerio cocked his head, grinned at Six, and then pointedly looked in the other direction. Well, why the hell not.

Fuckface was on his third repetition of “women with tattoos are only good for kitchen labor” when he swung his right hip too far back. Six pretended to lose her balance and fall forward. The decanus bent down to haul her back to her feet, only to receive a combat knife in the stomach that Six had snagged while falling. He faltered back as Six held onto the knife, a manic grin on her face, dozens of legionaries and slaves staring at her in abject horror. “Anyone else think they're hard enough?” she hissed, moments before Squeaky the Recruit drove into her knees and Alerio wrestled her hands behind her back.

“I should kill her right now -” Squeaky started, enraged, but Alerio silenced him with a gesture. “Your friend brought on his own fate by disobeying my order. The punishment for disobedience is death.”

“He's still alive!” exclaimed Squeaky, and Six was in no way surprised to hear a quick gunshot and a gurgle. Alerio sighed. “And that takes care of that. Do try to learn a lesson from your friend's demise, although I doubt it will stick.” Six felt herself being dragged back to her feet. “Come along, you,” said Alerio.

Squeaky, who was turning out to have just as few self-preservation instincts as his partner, wheeled towards the crowd and shouted “Who is she, huh? Any of us gets torn to shreds for something like that, and this cunt isn't even crucified? Who is this bitch that makes her life more valuable than of a legionary?”

“Just a runaway slave named Rosalind.--” Alerio started, but he was immediately drowned out by Six's choking laughter. Their audience continued to gather.

“Just a runaway slave?” she cackled, tasting blood from her dry throat. “Fools, you don't know who I am? I am Courier Six, the real one, not your childhood boogeyman. I came here to destroy your pathetic nation, and by the grace of Carrefour, your leader has invited me right into your heart -”

Someone smashed her in the head with a machete handle, and she was back to the blessed darkness,


	14. I'm no schoolboy, but I know what I like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic rape/non-con and violence. You have been warned. Dead dove, do not eat.

 

“Home is where the heart is” was what they always say. Perhaps “home is where your captured, drugged, injured and absolutely furious archenemy is” was a little too specific to become a common saying. Alerio had recommended binding the Courier securely while she was unconscious, but Vulpes decided against it. The Courier deserved a chance for a few good shots at him, if nothing else.

He'd imagined this moment, daily, for almost a decade now. Sometimes he leaned back in his throne, in front of an audience of legionaries, and forced her to her knees. She'd take him in her mouth until she choked, and then he'd turn her and let her meet the eyes of the smirking legionaries. No, too public. A personal relationship needed a personal ending. Tie her face-down on the bed, whip her half-conscious and fuck her in the ass? That would probably kill her in her current state, and he didn't relish cleaning up the sheets. Torture through cuts, chained upright over a drain was an option, but really, that was more of an interrogating technique.

In the end, all he wanted was to fuck her and hurt her, like she'd fucked him over and hurt him from Shady Sands to DC. That would suffice for a first night.

When Vulpes unlocked the security door to his – their – penthouse at the Tops, he tried to greet her like he'd read about in pre-war books. “Hello?” he called out cheerfully. “Is anyone there?” No response, but when he listened closely to the silence, he could hear shallow breathing coming from the floor by the bed. Further examination revealed the girl, emaciated, crouched on the floor with her head buried in the side of the mattress. He called her name several times – girl, slave, Courier, Six, Rosalind - but she didn't move a muscle.

Vulpes hadn't come this far in life not to realize that walking up to a supposedly disarmed and helpless opponent, particularly one that wasn't acting normally, was a suicide mission. Instead, he retreated to the doorway of the apartment.

“Are you sulking already, Courier? It's not a good look for you. Whatever happened to 'don't fucking touch me' and 'over my dead body'?” he mocked, while skillful fingers punched in the passwords to the computerized locks. “What exactly would it take to motivate you to show a little _fight?”_

The doors to the apartment slid open, showing several well-stocked weapon lockers and a straight path to the elevator. For the first time, Six lifted her head up, a gleam of excitement in her eyes. But within seconds the melancholy had settled in and she returned to gazing at nothing.

 _Interesting._ Vulpes gently removed his armor, leaving him in a tunic, leggings, a strange metal necklace with three dots, and approached Six. His weapons, of course, were in a secure location outside of the room. It didn't pay to be stupid.

“If I'd known it would be so easy to break you, Courier, I would have done it a long time ago. What did it this time? You saved your friends and your city. A martyr to the cause. A national hero! The two traitors who were killed were barely worth note. Are you worried about your friends? Miss Cassidy will continue drinking herself to death, and Miss Santangelo and Jackson are free to pursue their careers without the burden of your vendetta against the Legion weighing them down. They'll offer us an alliance in due time. Now, the doctor … I'm not sure if he's put a bullet in his brain yet, but it's only a matter of time --”

In a fraction of a second, Six shot upright and whipped around to face him, sliding the metal chair leg she'd been concealing under the table into view. The idiot had actually exposed his knee, and Six wasted no time bringing the blunt weapon down on his left kneecap. Vulpes yelped and dropped forward, opening up a perfect shot at his skull. She swung with all her strength, aiming for the temples, when he jerked his head out of the way and grabbed the metal baton with his hand. She thought she heard a few fingers crunch, but before she could calculate she realized that he'd pulled the chair leg away, and suddenly he had a weapon and she had none. _Shit._ But there were a ton of weapons, just out of her sight, beyond the apartment door that they both suddenly realized was still wide open.

Six took three good steps toward the entrance. On the last step, a strong hand wrapped around her ankle and jerked. She kicked and hit blindly towards her assailant, He got her right thigh wedged between his arm and some piece of metal, and Six winced for a moment before she heard the snap.

There's not much you can do with a broken femur other than keep it in traction, seethe and try not to cry. Six glared at Vulpes as he pulled himself onto the bed and began examining his injuries. Definite dislocation of the left knee, probably a concussion. Vulpes reached into the cabinet under the bed and pulled out a couple Stimpaks and two bottles of Hydra. He drank one bottle, slowly, and she watched in envy.

Vulpes held out the second Hydra to her. Six snorted. “What's the price?'

“No price. I don't fancy waiting yet more weeks for you to heal. Drink it and let's get on with this.”

Cautiously, Six accepted the Hydra and gulped it down. If it was poisoned, that really didn't matter at the moment. Halfway through, she felt a warming sensation in her injured thigh. A few more sips, and she could bear weight. Staggering to her feet, Six made another attempt to reach the door, but her leg gave out after a few steps, and then she was lifted up in the air and –

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Six hit and raked and kicked at everything within her reach. A table tipped over, a painting was torn off the wall. A long, thin hand pushed her to the bed, wrapped around her throat, face in the pillows, couldn't _breathe._ She felt her slave rags being ripped from her, greedy hands squeezing and scratching every which way, and whenever she tried to lift her head for a venomous retort she was slammed back twice as hard. Then Six felt something thin, cold and metallic snap around her neck. Her hands went to pry it away, and she was hit by a shock so devastating it left her twitching and whimpering on the bed.

As Six lay there, panting, she heard the click of the locks on the door like gunshots. There had never been a chance at freedom, not really, but even losing the illusion hurt. She growled and lunged at Vulpes the moment he was within striking distance, but she was curled up in pain grabbing her temples within seconds. Vulpes stroked her hair, and Six winced away, blinking away tears. _Stay mad._

“As you've probably guessed, I can make you do just about anything with this little collar. But that's not particularly fun. Instead, why don't you try to fight?”

Six kicked at him with her good leg, connecting at the shoulder, then went for his eyes.In an instant, Vulpes had tackled her back to the bed. He grabbed her throat around the collar, bit at her breasts and abdomen, forced two harsh fingers inside her. Six scrambled to escape, pushing and twisting in vain, repeating a litany of threats as he shucked off his clothing. He tried to pin her arms together above her head; she sank her teeth into the meat of his forearm, which earned her nothing put a slap on her cheek as he lined himself up and pushed inside her.

Six was dry and he was thick and taking things tortuously slow. It felt like shards of glass were tearing at her. She tried to kick and he caught one of her legs, bent it back to her shoulder so he could thrust deeper. With her left hand, Six clawed bloody furrows down his back, throat to hips. The sheets were becoming distinctly pink. He reached up and pulled her hair back, licking along her throat as she tensed herself for the bite. Instead, he kissed her scars gently, and when she pulled up and glared at him, he bit her hard on the collarbone before grabbing her throat and pushing her flat.

“A bit more satisfying than your metal man, isn't it?” he said archly. “Why would you ever fuck that abomination?” Six laughed through her sore throat. Time to think – and a well-placed “History of the Synthetic Man” book that had been delivered to the medical tent during her extended convalescence – had let her understand Robert Merrick's true nature. It didn't change her feelings about him a whit, although they were due a long conversation if, no, when she got back to Nola.

“Jealous, much?” she shot back. “You know why I loved fucking Merrick? Because he cared about me, cared about what I wanted. If I told him to stop he stopped, if I told him something didn't feel good he changed it up. I loved riding him, sucking him, holding _him_ down, and he loved it too.” Six was distantly aware that this had become some odd game of jealousy and dirty talk, and decided to push it more. "Better than anyone. Better than you, for sure."

“You're lying,” he grinned, slowing the roll of his hips. “I shouldn't have expected any more from a filthy profligate, one who had to fuck something that isn't even human. Flesh and blood needs flesh and blood, my _dear_.” To prove it, he swiped his hand across her chest, leaving a bloody handprint. “It's biology. I'm not jealous. It's no more than your degenerate friend Cassidy's romps with … Fisto, was it?”

Six spat, “If you hurt Fisto I swear to all the fucking Gods –“ the conversation was rapidly ended by him stuffing her torn slave rags into her mouth.

Vulpes had both of her wrists trapped above her head with one of his and the hand that had been strangling her was now busy rubbing her clit. Fucker knew just how to touch, how to angle his thrusts to get her sparking. And he was hissing in her ear now, things he knew would get him off and get her mad. “You're mine, Courier. Rosalind. Every part of you, skin to soul. I get to fuck the hero of the NCR while she seethes and struggles beneath me. _Fuck_. Squeeze me like that, yes. I'm going to tear you apart and fill you with my seed.”

“Bullshit,” Six growled through the gag, yanking her hips away. Vulpes pulled them right back and angled his thrusts until she clenched and tightened on his cock, letting out a defeated moan. “There you go, girl. Slave. Mine. You'll slake my lusts and bear my children and hate me all the while.” At the mention of children, Six tried to twist away, which was apparently enough for Vulpes to finish. Afterwards, he lay on top of her, presumably to prevent her from cleaning up and washing herself. When he sat up, she kicked out at him and he grabbed her ankle, manhandling it into a chain she hadn't seen before, looped around the base of a pillar near the bed. When he tried to pull her into his arms, she elbowed him in the stomach and he pushed her out onto the floor.

“If you won't share my bed, you can sleep naked on the floor like a dog on a chain,” he said spitefully.

“Gladly,” Six sneered, “I'd rather freeze to death than touch you again.”

She drifted into a dreamless, not entirely restful sleep, curled up and cold on the wooden floor. She'd just been dozing when she was yanked back into the big bed and wrapped in a warm, almost suffocating embrace. “Why?” she asked quietly.

“Your teeth were chattering and it was keeping me up.” There was a long pause, “And I missed this part.”

 


	15. My tongue's a match and all your veins are full of gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard non-con, Dead dove - do not eat,

The next week or so was unbearable. Six quickly realized that Vulpes had very limited options when it came to controlling her behavior. He could hit her shock collar, beat or rape her as many times as he wanted, but all it did was fuel the anger that coursed through her veins. As such, she violently attacked him at the slightest opportunity, leading her to spend most of her days and all of her nights bound to the pillar next to the bed, or on the mattress, or hanging from the ceiling if her crimes had been particularly egregious. He'd threatened her friends and her territory, and she'd snarled that she'd love to see him try, Enough days went by to prove that this was an empty threat for now. “Like you wouldn't have had them executed before me at the first opportunity, you sick fuck,” Six mumbled around the remains of a peach that Vulpes had been trying to feed her, before spitting it in his face. Instead of a strike or a shock, he laughed and smeared the pulp down her breasts and abdomen, following it with his tongue. Six's hissed expletives lost a lot of their sting when interspersed between broken gasps of arousal.

Vulpes couldn't get enough of her. He didn't care that she threatened and struggled and openly plotted for his death, that her hands would twitch in their cuffs as if pretending they were locked around his throat. Alive, unbroken, skin to soul. His skin under her desperately scratching fingernails, her blood on his cock, and most importantly, his collar on her neck. The collar was thin steel, set with occasional garnets, and the metal dipped down into her jugular notch to form a stylized V. The inverse of a crown, as Vulpes often reminded Six, usually receiving a glare in return.

Slaves came by to clean up the room. They studiously ignored Six and spoke in a language that was neither Latin nor English. Every day, one of them would set out a plate of gruel while the other would shove her to the bathroom and indicate she should bathe; Six considered resisting but then realized that they were probably under orders to wash her themselves if she refused. Sometimes they'd bandage a particularly egregious wound. Whenever she caught one of their eyes, looking for a spark of sympathy, she saw only hatred.

Cracks began to show in the second week. One night, after he was absolutely sure he'd secured her arms and legs, Vulpes woke up to a knee in his back and a thin piece of fabric wrapped tightly around his throat. Before his consciousness faded completely, he threw them both to the side, knocking Six clear, hands still holding the tightly twisted sheet she'd tried to use as a garrote. For the first time, Six looked truly afraid. She hobbled to the door, finding it locked as usual, and her screams when he handcuffed her arms behind her back and threw her face-first on to the bed were more heart-felt than usual.

“Did you think to choke the life out of me, _darling?”_ Vulpes hissed, still feeling the sting of the garrotte on his own neck. Six coughed, and in a raspy voice, said, “Why not? You're doing it to me. Choking and bleeding a little more life out of me each day. I'll be nothing soon, or have you been too wrapped up in enjoying your spoils of war to notice?” She laughed, and in his rage, he wrapped the garotte around her neck, twisted it into a noose and pulled, delighting in her little squeaks and chokes. Reaching over to the bedside table, he uncorked a small bottle and poured a small amount of oil onto his cock. Vulpes slowly slid inside her ass, twisting the garrote hard when he thrust in deep. Six's panicked squirms felt heavenly from the inside, and he made a game of it, seeing how the tightness of the ligature effected her grip on his cock. He'd just begun to reach around to touch her when Six's right hand slipped free of the handcuff, instinctively trying to worm its way between the fabric around her neck and her bruised skin. This was somehow an even more erotic picture – captured prey escaping predator – and he finished in seconds.

Six cried for a good time afterwards, and for once he had the idea that it was best to leave her alone. Vulpes chained her to the pillar by the bed, arms in front of her, and even gave her a flannel and pillow. Six stared darkly into nothing and wouldn't meet his eyes, and he resolved to be up earlier than her the next day.

The next morning she was right where he'd left her, breathing shallowly, covered in blood, the shredded pieces of skin that had formerly made up her neck stuck between her fingernails and teeth. She had tried to rip her own throat out.

Something had to be done, and there was only one person in Vegas that Six might be honest with.

 

Gentle arms lifted Six from her somnolent state chained to the floor, and a sharp prick in her upper arm assured she'd stay compliant. Sad-eyed Siri, years older but just as smart; a very small and angry version of Siri, about twelve years old and full of hate; and an abnormally tall, mute woman with short blond hair who seemed to have a limitless pool of compassion. They laid her in a warm bath that smelled of cinnamon and vanilla The slave women cleaned and rubbed the filth from her wounds, with knowing smiles and sympathetic touches. Siri herself rubbed salve beneath the collar and the shackle marks on her wrists, and unsuccessfully tried to engage Six in conversation.

After the dirt and the blood washed away, Siri bandaged Six's wounds and asked her the primary question. “Courier, are you trying to kill yourself?”

Six looked away for a moment before responding in a raspy voice. “Shouldn't I be? I need to kill him or myself. I don't see any other way out. I'm too weak and drugged to fight, but I can starve myself, and try to get him to snap and kill me. I will not --- I will _not_ – live the rest of my life as a slave to that man. I won't have my children taken away to become murderers and rapists. If you were kind -” Six indicated to the razor that Siri had been using to help shave Six's legs “- you would leave that here and walk away. It would all be over soon.”

Siri swallowed and glanced to the smaller girl next to her. “I might be willing to risk that. But Raina here, she's my only daughter. If I were to let you die -”

Six lowered her gaze. “Understandable. Forget I said anything.”

“Doctor Gannon told me that the only way out is through -”

Six tried to spring to her feet in the bath, but instead slipped and had to catch herself on a rail, ruining the dramatic effect. “FUCK Doctor Gannon!” she snapped. “He's sleeping safe in our house tonight, and I'm trapped here! He thinks I'm dead! They all think I'm dead! What the fuck am I supposed to do, Siri?”

"Make some minor concessions, gain yourself a bit of freedom, and you will find ways to bring their destruction. Eat and get strong, or they'll force a feeding tube down your throat. Control your temper, or you'll never see outside. Run your mouth and you get worse!”

Siri, practically shaking rage, grabbed the tall silent woman and pulled her to Six. “Open your mouth, Celeste,” Siri ordered, and the blonde complied. Six reared back in horror. Where there should have been a tongue and teeth, was nothing but a gaping maw.

“Celeste was bought by a centurion looking for strong, warrior children,” Siri said quietly. “The first time he made her use her mouth on him, she bit. Hard. So the man – Golgotha – cut her tongue out, knocked out her teeth, and invited his century to use her throat until she choked to death. Raina found her and kept her alive until we could fix her up. She has some brain damage but is good at suturing, so they let her live as a tool and a warning.”

“Push too far, Courier, and Lord Caesar _will_ push back, He knows your fears and weaknesses. What he wants is submission and humiliation for you, and ownership and progeny for him. And he doesn't care if he has to keep you naked and chained and fuck you half a dozen times a day in front of everyone.”

“I'm not really seeing a reason to stay alive here, Siri,” Six replied.

Siri made several frustrated gestures. “Listen. Eat the food. Stop trying to kill everyone. Give in a little bit, and there will be opportunities ahead of you. I can't say any more. But _trust me.”_

Six focused her stare on Siri, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around herself. "I will not give in, I will not stop fighting, and if it kills me, so be it. Now _leave.”_

Without a word, Siri, Raina, and Celeste left the bathroom. Six stood there for a while, staring at the red and brown stained water swirling down the drain, until she heard the click of a door opening.

 

“You do like taking things the hard way, Courier,” said Alerio, standing behind her.

Six rolled her eyes. “Come to convince me to change my wicked ways?”

“Of a sort,” he said, smiling. “Put something on and come down to the courtyard with me.”

“You might have noticed a certain shortage of clothing around here.”

Alerio walked over to the bed and pulled up a crimson sheet. “Hold still for a second and I can make something out of this.”

“Oh my God, are you the Legion's _fashion designer_ as well as their chef? I'm shocked they haven't hanged you as a degenerate. Do you also compose show tun – aaagh!”

When Six was finished twitching on the floor, she was not surprised to look up and see Alerio tucking a duplicate of Vulpes' necklace – the one that doubled as the control for her collar – back under his tunica.

“What is this about?” she asked, shrugging on the toga he had directed her to fashion.

“The healing girls were the carrot. This is the stick. Get up and see.” Six remained on the floor, hand reaching back for a weapon she knew wasn't there. “Get _up,_ Courier, or I will drag you. Try to conserve your precious dignity.”

Six scowled at Alerio, but followed him out of the penthouse and to the elevator, his iron grip on her wrist dissuading any rash movements. Six received a few curious looks in the hallways, but nothing compared to when Alerio opened the door to the Tops courtyard and she saw the women.

Dozens of women were stuffed into the small courtyard, all in slave rags, all in various states of dishevelment. Most seemed to be mending the clothes of the legionaries. Girls, some as young as five, stole among the rows to do the finer stitches on gloves and boots. A few blank-eyed, slightly cleaner women in back were bathing in cold tubs, and one was half-hidden in a corner, kneeling in front of a praetorian.

All faces turned to look at Alerio and Six. When she met their eyes, all she saw was disgust. Horrified, she stepped back, and Alerio caught her shoulders and turned her to face him. He was grinning.

“They hate me,” Six snarled. “I've never met them and they hate me. What did you do?”

“I had thought that Vulpes had filled you in on this?” he said, laughing. “He experimented a bit. Trying to make the slaves more compliant. We used the shock collars, the drugs … and an enemy. You. The one the collars were made for. The reason they had to suffer.”

Six thought back, saw Cora's hate-filled glare back in Nola. _You're the one._

“The best part is that it was hardly a lie. The legendary Courier, scourge of the Legion and its slaves. How many innocents died in Shady Sands? In Flagstaff? They've all heard the stories. The avenging, tattooed angel, come to wipe the slate clean of the Bull with her nuclear hellfire, slaying good and evil alike. And of course, we would be their protectors. Serve your masters well, and they'll protect you from the mistress of Death.”

Alerio went on, “And here you come before them, collared and skinny and scared. Oh, Courier, they hate you _far_ worse than they hate us. If I walked away and left you, they'd rip your eyes out.”

“Let them, then,” she spat. “You'll be next up on the cross.”

“That's not for today.” Alerio let go of her wrist and took a step away. “Hit me in the face, Courier.”

Six didn't move. “What are you playing at?” she whispered.

“This is your one free shot. I know you want to. Hit me in the face.” he whispered back.

Six straightened up. “Whatever trap this is, I'm not falling--”

In quiet, hurried Latin, too low to be understood by anyone else, he hissed, “ _Hit me in the face or I will have the children torn apart by dogs.”_ Half a second later, her fist smashed into his nose, and he stumbled back, bleeding. The women backed away from both of them, expecting a fight.

One hand over his nose, Alerio reached into his tunica, and Six braced herself for a shock. Instead, Alerio pressed the lowest button on the pendant. And a quarter of the women fell to the floor, twitching and screaming. In the few seconds before Alerio pulled her through the door and locked it, the unaffected slaves had started throwing rocks at her.

“What the _fuck-”_

Suddenly Alerio was too close, pinning Six against the rough brick wall with his body. She shoved at his shoulders, and he grabbed her wrists and held them to the wall. Six made to kick him, but stopped when he shook her and yelled “Listen to me!”

After a few deep breaths, they both stopped struggling. Alerio wouldn't let her break eye contact. “Courier, this is how it is going to be. We don't have your friends here to threaten you. But your weakness, your one big weakness, is that you care for innocents, even if they hate you. So here are your rules. Every time you misbehave enough to earn yourself a shock from that collar, it goes to ten times as many slaves, and they'll hate you all the more. Try to kill Vulpes or myself or anyone of rank, and a slave dies, as unpleasantly as the two of us can manage. If you somehow manage to kill yourself, every slave girl under thirteen in this camp will die. And, God forbid, if you ever manage to kill him, escape and make it back to that cesspool you call a city, I will personally come after you and your friends and fulfill every nightmare you've had since the day you walked out of Nipton alive. _Is that clear?”_

Six had been trying hard not to cry, but a few tears slipped out. She lowered her head and nodded, hoping Alerio wouldn't look closer.

He patted her on the back as they walked back to the elevator. “Go take a shower and clean up. There'll be clothes out on the sofa. I'm making pesto gnocchi. Be good.”

She spent half an hour on the floor of the shower, intermittently sobbing and seething, trying to think of a way out and failing. She should have listened to Siri and taken the carrot, so she would never have had to see the stick.

_Deep breaths. It's not over. The only way out is through, right? Stay alive and you'll find the way out. Not like you have much of an option about staying alive._

When she was sufficiently calm, she dried off, got dressed in some form of blue tunica. Vulpes and Alerio were sitting at a table, acting as though they had just had a perfectly normal day. Vulpes smiled at her, brittle and bright, and said casually, “Did you and Alerio have an enlightening conversation?”

“Yes,” Six said, through a raspy voice.

“What was that?”

She shrunk a little more into herself. “Yessir.”

“Excellent. Now that everyone's expectations are clear, come have some pasta and wine. Skin and bones is not a healthy look for you.”

Six ate as little as she could get away with, drank as much wine as she could sneak, and only spoke when asked a direct question. The night seemed to be winding to a close when Vulpes stroked his hand through her hair.

“You know, Rosalind--”

“ _Six,”_ she corrected through gritted teeth.

“Whatever. I don't think you've ever thanked Alerio for saving you from certain death in that river. He pulled you out personally, at great risk to himself. Wouldn't you say that deserves some kind of reward?”

Six closed her eyes and heard the rustle of skirts. “A most generous gift, My Lord,” said Alerio, his voice a little husky.

A hand on her shoulder pressed her to her knees. “Well, you made a fantastic dinner. Dessert should be on me. Open your mouth, Six.'

With a thousand ways to kill them crackling like dry lightning across her brain, Six stilled her thoughts and opened her mouth.

 


End file.
